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LUS 


WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 


MEANWHILE    HE    STEERED    THE    TWENTY-NINE    IN    A   WIDE    CIRCLE    TO 
WINDWARD    OF   THE   FORTY-TWO. 

(Page  81.) 


WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

A  STORY  OF  ANNAPOLIS 


BY 

FITZHUGH  GREEN 

Lt. -Commander,  U.  S.  N. 


NEW  YORK 
E.  P.  DUTTON  &  COMPANY 

681  FIFTH  AVENUE 


Copyright,  1922, 
BY  E.  P.  DUTTON  &  COMPANY 


Att  right,  reserved, 


PMNTKD  IK  THB  TTNITBD  STATES  OF  AWRIOA 


FOREWORD 

Annapolis  is  the  most  remarkable  institution  of  its  kind 
in  the  world. 

The  education  it  provides  is  essentially  engineering: 
marine  and  civil,  electrical  and  mechanical,  finally  naval. 
Also  no  midshipman  escapes  instruction,  even  proficiency, 
in  less  than  three  forms  of  athletics. 

The  Naval  Academy  is  unique  in  two  distinct  ways: 
By  intensity  of  the  traditional  class  spirit  is  begun  that 
unparalleled  esprit  de  corps  which  makes  our  Navy  the 
greatest  in  the  world.  By  the  summer  cruises  is  pro- 
vided a  species  of  education  no  youth  should  reach  man- 
hood without. 

WON  FOR  THE  FLEET  is  a  tale  of  two  boys,  one  physically 
brutal,  the  other  physically  deficient.  Four  years  at  An- 
napolis moulds  and  forges,  tempers  and  anneals,  their  two 
characters.  The  bully  is  refined;  the  weakling  fibred. 
False  standards  of  both  are  overthrown.  From  two  awk- 
ward young  animals  are  made  two  men — two  gentlemen. 
From  two  instinctive  enemies  are  made  two  fast  friends. 

It  is  a  tale  of  adventure  and  vicissitude,  true  to  the 
middie's  life,  by  one  who  has  lived  and  loved  it! 


2135896 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    ESCAPE i 

II    A  DASH  TO  COVER 12 

III  BURIED   ALIVE 24 

IV  AN  ADMIRAL  AT  BAY 36 

V    THE   DISASTER 45 

VI    COURT-MARTIAL 58 

VII    FIRE 69 

VIII    DILEMMA 79 

IX    HAZED go 

X    N!  N!  N!   N! 103 

XI    CATASTROPHE r.     .     .     .  114 

XII    A  DESPERATE  ATTEMPT 118 

XIII  NEARING  THE  END 130 

XIV  EUROPE! 135 

XV  MAN    OVERBOARD! 148 

XVI    NECK  AND  NECK! 158 

XVII  MISSING! 167 

XVIII  CLASS  SPIRIT 177 

XIX  IN   SECRET *,    .     ., 189 

XX  TRAITORS! 199 

XXI  PIRATES «    .    ....  211 

XXII  THE  HOP „,....  224 

XXIII  AT  His  OWN  GAME  ....    ~    v    .    «...  235 

XXIV  THE  BATTLE .,..,„•»...  248 

XXV  THE  TURRET 259 

XXVI     THEIR  LAST  FIGHT 271 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Meanwhile  he  steered  the  Twenty-Nine  in  a  wide  circle  to 
windward  of  the  Forty-Two   (Page  81)    .     .     Frontispiece 

TACINQ    PAGE 

Four  horsemen  were  coming  down  the  trail  in  single  file  .     .  8 

"He's  insulted  me  and  I'm  going  to  make  him  apologize"  .     .  26 

He  was  fascinated  by  the  old  French  town 138 

Some  sort  of  excitement  seemed  to  be  going  on 174 


WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 


WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

CHAPTER  I 

ESCAPE 

CLOSE  to  midnight  the  reader  moved  his  candle  a  bit 
nearer  to  the  bed's  head.  Using  his  finger  as  a  guide 
he  followed  again  the  final  thrilling  sentence : 

".  .  .  Having  sunk  three  frigates  and  a  brig,  and  with 
half  the  width  of  the  South  Pacific  between  him  and  his 
pursuers,  Skipper  Byng  now  dared  risk  attack  the  pirate 
stronghold." 

After  a  third  reading  he  rose  to  a  sitting  position. 
Such  was  his  caution  that  not  a  creak  came  from  the 
dilapidated  old  bed.  Strangely  enough  he  was  fully 
dressed,  this  despite  the  fact  that  a  moment  before  the 
bedclothes  had  covered  him  to  his  chin. 

He  pinched  out  the  candle.  Blowing  would  have  made 
too  dangerous  a  noise,  and  noises  of  any  kind  increased 
tremendously  the  peril  of  the  moment.  As  yet  there 
were  no  pursuers.  'But  had  there  been,  the  luck  of 
Captain  Byng  with  half  the  South  Pacific  behind  him 
was  tragically  impossible. 

He  tiptoed  to  the  window.  Through  a  crack  in  the 
shutter  the  street  was  faintly  visible.  It  appeared  de- 
serted. He  couldn't  see  the  tall  figure  in  dark  clothing 
lurking  behind  the  telegraph  post  opposite. 

The  tall  figure  was  that  of  the  Emmitsburg  night 
patrolman.  For  a  week  this  officer  had  noticed  the 

1 


2  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

flicker  of  light  upstairs  in  the  house  he  now  watched. 
Inquiry  had  told  him  only  that  this  was  the  residence  of 
the  Poors,  a  new  family  in  Emmitsburg.  Anything  new 
in  the  tiny  village  of  Emmitsburg  was  a  cause  for  sus- 
picion. 

Tonight  he  had  determined  to  solve  the  mystery.  So, 
having  made  the  rounds  of  his  regular  beat,  he  returned 
and  concealed  himself  behind  the  post  Within  a 
minute  after  his  arrival  he  was  rewarded  by  seeing  the 
light  disappear.  Then  noiselessly  the  shutter  opened. 
A  shadowy  figure  emerged  and  lowered  itself  to  a  ledge 
beneath  the  window.  It  crept  to  a  drain  pipe  a  few  feet 
away  and  slid  to  the  ground  with  a  faint  thud.  By 
furtive  steps  it  passed  through  the  little  front  garden 
and  into  the  street.  Twenty  paces  behind,  the  patrolman 
took  up  the  pursuit.  So  far  he  had  no  cause  for  arrest. 
Also  his  detective  instinct  told  him  that  greater  possibil- 
ities of  discovering  crime  lay  in  covering  the  full  trail. 

Near  the  lower  end  of  Emmitsburg's  main  thorough- 
fare, a  freight  train  delayed  matters.  As  a  light  hung 
above  the  crossing,  the  fleeing  figure  shrank  into  the 
shadows  of  a  nearby  building.  The  policeman  had  just 
time  to  see  he  carried  a  bag  of  some  sort.  Booty  with- 
out a  doubt. 

The  rumbling  crashing  train  passed  slowly.  Its 
length  seemed  endless.  Suddenly  the  green  tail  light  of 
the  caboose  swung  into  sight.  At  the  same  instant  the 
officer  gave  a  half-shout  of  dismay. 

The  figure  had  darted  from  its  hiding  place,  leaped  to 
the  iron  rung  of  a  passing  flat  car,  and  was  carried  into 
the  darkness  of  the  night! 

Near  dawn  the  train  picked  its  noisy  way  through  the 
City's  freight  yards.  The  single  passenger  slipped  off 


ESCAPE  3 

in  time  to  avoid  the  inquisitive  crew.  He  was  cold  and 
cramped  and  hungry.  But  he  didn't  hesitate.  Except 
for  stopping  twice  and  questioning  pedestrians  as  to  the 
route,  he  walked  steadily  until  the  sun  was  high. 

In  the  busy  center  of  the  City  he  entered  a  massive 
stone  building.  On  the  second  floor  he  accosted  a  man 
in  uniform  behind  a  desk. 

"Want  to  enlist  in  the  Navy,"  he  announced  briefly. 

"Name?" 

"Thomas  Poor." 

"Age?" 

"Twenty" — he  lied  without  hesitation. 

The  man  behind  the  desk  shot  a  keen  look.  He  was 
trying  the  age  of  twenty  on  Tom  Poor  as  a  tailor  would 
try  on  a  coat  Stocky  well-knit  figure  it  fitted.  Heavy 
jaw  and  set  mouth  were  those  of  an  older  man.  Cold 
blue  eyes  between  their  narrow  lids,  short  cropped  hair 
the  whole  bulldog-like  poise  were  those  of  a  man  past 
twenty.  Only  the  thumping  heart  beneath  was  unalter- 
ably young.  It  was  invisible;  yet  hopelessly  it  beat  and 
clamored  to  shout  the  truth  : 

"He  lies — this  Tom  Poor  lies!  He's  seventeen — he's 
seventeen — he's  seventeen !" 

Three  months  later  to  a  day  there  was  great  excite- 
ment about  the  decks  of  the  U.  S.  S.  Alaska.  The  huge 
gray  dreadnaught  had  anchored  the  night  before  in  the 
blue  expanse  of  Manzanillo  Bay  on  the  south  coast  of 
Cuba. 

A  blazing  tropical  sunrise  had  just  fired  the  misty 
peaks  to  the  north  when  the  officer  of  the  deck  dashed 
to  the  gangway,  shook  his  sleepy  bugler,  and  ordered 
reveille  blown  at  once  followed  by  the  assembly. 


4  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

Uproar  of  boatswain's-mates  echoed  along  the  lower 

decks. 

"All— 1  hands  on  deck !     Fall  in  the  landing  force !" 

Without  waiting  to  lash  hammocks,  six  hundred  men 
tumbled  sleepily  down  and  clambered  up  the  nearest 
hatchways.  Not  since  the  days  of  war  had  any  -such 
alarm  broken  upon  the  brisk  routine  of  peace. 

"Fall  in  for  muster!"  shouted  the  division  petty 
officers  and  began  to  call  in  a  hoarse  monotone  the  lists 
of  names  belonging  to  their  division  or  company. 

"Tom  Poor,  seaman,  second  class." 

No  reply. 

"Where  is  the  beggar?    Tom  Poor!" 

A  lanky  lieutenant  strode  up.  "All  right  Johnson," 
he  said  crisply ;  "I've  excused  Poor  from  this  formation." 

Having  received  a  report  of  absentees,  the  lieutenant 
returned  at  a  dogtrot  to  his  stateroom  where  he  found 
Tom  waiting  as  he  had  directed. 

"I  was  ordered  to  report  to  you  here,  Mr.  Rudd,"  said 
the  lad. 

"Yes,  Poor.  I  have  picked  you  for  a  serious  responsi- 
bility. I  may  as  well  trust  you  at  once  with  the  truth  of 
this  disturbance." 

He  turned  to  the  open  porthole  and  pointed  to  a  saddle 
in  the  distant  mountains. 

"See  that  blurred  line?  That's  smoke.  An  American 
sugar  plantation  has  been  attacked  by  .bandits.  The 
owners  cabled  to  Washington  for  assistance  last  night. 
Twenty  minutes  ago  we  received  orders  to  land  an  armed 
force  and  capture  the  criminals." 

"But  they've  had  all  night  to  get  away,  sir." 

"True,  except  that  they  are  in  such  numbers  that  there 
may  have  seemed  to  them  no  need  to  hurry.  We  hope 


ESCAPE  5 

to  surround  them  by  dividing  our  force.  Half  will  be 
sent  up  the  river  opposite  us.  The  rest  will  land  and 
make  their  way  across  country  in  order  to  cut  off  the 
bandits  from  escape  by  way  of  the  railroad." 

Lieutenant  Rudd  stopped,  closed  the  door  and  went  on 
in  lower  tones. 

"You  and  I  have  a  special  job  in  the  middle  of  things. 
I  have  selected  you  to  accompany  me  on  a  route  midway 
between  the  two  sections.  We  can  follow  a  road  that  is 
visible  for  nearly  its  whole  length  from  the  ship.  Our 
signals  about  the  positions  of  the  enemy  will  be  repeated 
to  the  divisions  on  either  side  of  us." 

At  this  moment  a  messenger  announced  the  Captain's 
gig  ready  for  Mr.  Rudd. 

Half  an  hour  after  they  landed,  a  hard  climb  brought 
them  to  a  point  from  which  the  smoking  ruins  of  the 
plantation  buildings  were  plainly  visible  on  the  hillside 
about  a  mile  ahead. 

After  a  long  scrutiny  through  his  binoculars,  Lieuten- 
ant Rudd  turned  with  a  smile  of  satisfaction.  "They're 
still  there,"  he  said.  "I  can't  see  the  men,  but  their 
camp  fires  are  quite  distinct  from  the  smudge  of  the 
burning  buildings." 

"Shall  I  signal  that  back  to  the  ship?"  asked  Tom. 

At  a  nod  from  the  officer  he  began  a  swift  series  of 
movements  with  two  small  red  flags. 

"Pretty  good  at  that,  aren't  you?" 

Tom  colored  slightly.  "I  try  to  be,"  he  said  after  a 
pause. 

"That's  why  I  chose  you,  Poor.  You  have  impressed 
me  as  trying  to  be  good  at  everything  I  set  before  you. 
Must  be  the  way  your  mind  works.  Or  maybe  it's  got 
to  do  with  the  reasons  you  had  for  coming  in  the  Navy." 


6  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

With  one  eye  on  the  Alaska  for  a  signal  Tom  made 
an  effort  to  return  the  confidence  of  the  older  man. 

"Guess  it's  the  reasons  you  speak  of,  sir.  I  ran  away 
from  home  to  enlist  in  the  Navy.  I  had  to  go  to  sea. 
Seems  kind  of  in  me.  'Course  I  used  to  be  all  for  this 
pirate  stuff  you  read  about.  But  the  country's  coming 
to  be  a  great  sea  power  and  that  means  law  and  order. 
Merchant  ships  are  bound  to  be  monotonous — same 
routes  all  the  time,  and  all  that.  So  I  took  the  Navy. 
Then—" 

Tom  broke  off  abruptly  with  a  sharp  exclamation. 
One  flag  he  thrust  out  at  right  angles  to  his  body  and 
waved  it  rapidly  up  and  down.  A  searchlight  blinker 
flashed  from  the  battleship's  bridge. 

"Combine — in — attack — at — ten — thirty,"  he  read. 

"Gives  us  just  time  to  make  the  encampment,"  an- 
nounced the  other  pulling  out  his  watch.  "Suppose 
they've  figured  the  same  for  the  other  parties." 

From  this  point  it  was  necessary  to  strike  off  across 
country.  The  road  would  not  be  safe,  as  parts  of  it  were 
visible  from  the  bandit  camp.  Also  it  was  necessary 
that  scouts  be  avoided  in  order  not  to  give  the  alarm. 

Tropical  vegetation  is  a  terrible  tax  on  the  walker's 
muscles.  Rudd's  long  legs  enabled  him  to  avoid  many 
of  the  snake-like  vines  and  cacti  that  constantly  tripped 
the  sturdier-built  seaman.  On  the  other  hand,  Tom's 
rugged  physique  was  not  to  be  conquered  by  anything 
so  trifling  as  a  tropical  jungle. 

After  a  half  an  hour's  struggle,  Lieutenant  Rudd 
stopped.  "We've  got  to  be  careful  not  to  lose  our  way 
here,"  he  panted,.  "Even  with  the  sun  and  our  compass 
we  run  a  risk  of  running  into  an  ambush." 


ESCAPE  7 

"Suppose  I  take  a  look  ahead,"  suggested  Tom.  "I 
see  a  tree  from  which  I  may  get  a  pretty  good  squint  at 
the  neighborhood." 

"All  right,  but  be  back  inside  of  ten  minutes,  as  we 
have  no  time  to  lose." 

Tom's  guess  was  correct.  From  the  tree  he  could 
overlook  not  only  the  plantation  enclosure,  now  a  smok- 
ing desolation,  but  the  thickly  wooded  area  on  either 
side.  To  his  surprise  he  found  that  not  twenty  yards  to 
the  right  of  him  lay  an  open  trail. 

He  started  down.  As  he  turned,  his  big  Navy  Colt 
automatic  caught  on  a  limb.  In  the  few  seconds  of  free- 
ing himself  he  chanced  to  take  another  glance  at  the 
trail.  His  heart  leaped. 

Four  horsemen  were  coming  down  it  in  single  file. 
Beyond  a  doubt  they  were  the  bandits.  One  was  thor- 
oughly drunk.  All  were  loaded  down  with  parcels  and 
bags  full  of  loot.  Two  had  packages  of  greenbacks 
protruding  from  their  pockets. 

Tom  thought  quickly.  The  bandits  were  slipping 
through  their  fingers.  By  means  of  this  trail  they  could 
elude  both  attacking  parties  and  escape  in  either  direc- 
tion along  the  coast.  It  would  be  a  good  fifteen  minutes 
before  the  main  forces  would  even  reach  the  camp.  And 
even  then  they  would  be  of  no  great  help  unless  they 
knew  exactly  in  which  direction  to  continue  the  pursuit. 

There  was  but  one  thing  to  do.  Tom  drew  his  gun 
from  its  holster  and  cocked  it.  Using  the  crotch  of 
a  limb  he  took  steady  aim  and  fired.  The  leading  horse 
reared  with  a  loud  snort,  balanced  for  a  moment  on  its 
hindlegs,  and  fell  with  a  crash  into  the  undergrowth  that 
bordered  the  trail. 


8  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

Instantly  the  other  riders  swung  off  the  open  way. 
Tom  could  hear  them  floundering  about  in  all  directions. 
His  single  shot  had  thrown  them  into  a  panic. 

Then  a  second  shot  rang  out  It  was  in  the  direction 
of  Mr.  Rudd  and  reminded  Tom  of  the  predicament  his 
impulsive  action  might  have  imposed  upon  his  companion. 

A  horse  screamed.  Shouts  in  Spanish  came  from  all 
sides.  There  ensued  a  tumult  of  horses  and  men  scram- 
bling to  avoid  the  unseen  attackers. 

Then  to  Tom's  great  satisfaction  he  heard  the  noise 
subside  in  the  direction  of  the  plantation.  He  clambered 
down  and  rushed  back  to  where  he  had  left  the  officer. 
Tom's  heart  stood  still  at  what  he  saw. 

Lieutenant  Rudd  lay  on  the  ground  face  up.  Blood 
was  streaming  from  his  mouth  and  nose*  His  white 
uniform  was  torn  and  dishevelled.  No  doubt  he  had 
been  set  upon  from  behind  and  left  for  dead. 

With  his  neckerchief  Tom  bound  up  the  wounds  as 
best  he  could.  Though  he  could  hear  a  faint  heartbeat 
he  was  by  no  means  sure  that  death  was  not  very  near  to 
the  victim. 

This  chance  that  his  companion  might  be  saved  by 
prompt  medical  attention  left  no  room  for  debate.  There 
was  only  one  thing  to  do;  take  him  on  to  the  impending 
battle  and  trust  to  luck  that  the  doctor  of  the  landing 
force  would  be  available. 

Tom's  unusual  strength  came  vigorously  to  his  aid 
when  he  swung  the  limp  body  over  his  shoulder.  At 
that  he  staggered  as  he  made  his  way  up  the  narrow 
sandy  trail.  Sweat  poured  down  his  arms  and  legs,  and 
he  was  conscious  of  an  increasing  throbbing  pain  in  the 
back  of  his  cramped  neck. 

Twice  he  put  down  the  body  to  reconnoitre.     Sud- 


FOUR  HORSEMEN  WERE  COMING  DOWN  THE  TRAIL  IN  SINGLE  FILE. 


ESCAPE  9 

denly,  he  realized  the  time  for  attack  as  set  by  the 
Alaska's  signal*  had  come  and  passed.  Could  he  pos- 
sibly have  read  the  figures  wrong?  The  thought  startled 
him.  If  so,  his  mistake  had  precipitated  the  bandits' 
flight  and  possibly  cost  the  life  of  his  superior  officer. 

Then,  without  warning,  a  fusillade  of  shots  broke  out 
ahead.  There  were  shouted  orders  and  yells  of  terror- 
stricken  men  mingled  with  a  great  stamping  of  horses' 
hoofs.  The  battle  had  begun! 

Hastily  placing  the  body  in  the  shelter  of  a  large 
tree,  Tom  crept  cautiously  ahead.  Gun  in  hand,  he 
was  ready  should  the  natives  make  a  rush  in  his  direc- 
tion. 

Suddenly  as  it  began,  the  firing  stopped.  Tom  waited 
for  a  long  minute  to  see  if  it  would  begin  again,  then 
ran  back  for  the  unconscious  man,.  He  arrived  at  the 
plantation  clearing  just  in  time  to  see  the  begrimed  and 
heated  landing  force  shouldering  their  smoking  arms  and 
falling  into  ranks. 

"A  doctor !"  he  shouted.  "Quick !  Here's  a  wounded 
man!" 

The  last  words  trailed  on  his  lips.  The  ranks  of  dirty 
white  uniforms  faded  into  a  gray  smear.  Then,  quietly, 
Tom  collapsed.  The  tropical  heat  and  his  superhuman 
efforts  had  been  too  much  for  him. 

He  came  to  in  a  little  iron  cot  in  sick  bay,  the  battle- 
ship's hospital  between  decks. 

"Here,  lad,  drink  this,"  ordered  a  white-shirted  stew- 
ard. "And  as  soon  as  you  feel  right,  let  me  know.  The 
Skipper  has  sent  for  you  to  come  to  his  cabin,." 

Tom  rose  to  his  wobbly  legs.  "Might  as  well  go  now," 
he  said  a  little  weakly. 

"No  hurry,  son." 


io  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"No,"  wearily;  "but  I  might  as  well  get  this  off  my 
chest.  I  gummed  the  game  ashore,  you  know." 

The  steward  opened  his  eyes.  "That  ain't  what  they 
say  on  deck,"  was  his  dubious  comment. 

Tom  found  to  his  surprise  that  Lieutenant  Rudd  had 
preceded  him,.  Except  for  a  head  bandage  the  officer 
looked  very  much  himself. 

Captain  Barlow  rose  from  his  chair.  "Let  me  con- 
gratulate youA  Poor,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand. 
"Proud  to  have  you  aboard." 

"Wh— yes  sir— but— "  Tom  faltered. 

"I've  told  him  all  about  it,"  put  in  Rudd. 

"Yes,"  continued  the  Captain,  "he  told  me  that  you 
singlehanded  were  responsible  for  our  capture  of  the 
bandits." 

"But  I  wasn't  there,  sir,"  Tom  persisted. 

"Guess  you  don't  realize  what  you  did,  young  man." 
The  Skipper's  smile  was  full  of  appreciation.  "Accord- 
ing to  Mr.  Rudd  you  dropped  the  leading  scoundrel's 
horse  just  as  he  was  taking  his  party  to  safety.  Of 
course  the  others  lost  their  nerve  and  turned  about  in 
time  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  our  main  force." 

"Except  that  one  of  them  managed  to  creep  up  behind 
me,"  said  Rudd,  putting  a  hand  to  his  bloody  bandage. 

Captain  Barlow  turned  to  his  desk  and  drew  an  official 
document  from  one  of  the  pigeonholes.  He  waved  it  at 
Tom  and  began: 

"I  have  here  a  notification  from  Washington  that  I  am 
to  select  a  seaman  for  one  of  the  yearly  appointments  to 
Annapolis  that  are  reserved  for  enlisted  men.  Accord- 
ing to  Mr.  Rudd  you  are  the  very  one  to  fill  the  bill. 
You  have  a  love  for  adventure  that  will  make  you  appre- 


'ESCAPE  ii 

ciate  life  at  sea.  Further,  you  have  ambition  that  will 
keep  you  out  of  mischief!" 

"And  the  loyalty,"  broke  in  Rudd,  "that  goes  into  the 
production  of  a  successful  naval  officer." 

Tom  opened  his  mouth  to  speak;.  Nothing  came. 
His  cheeks  burned. 

"Orderly !"  sang  out  the  Skipper. 

The  marine  sentry  entered. 

"Tell  the  Executive  Officer  that  when  he  starts  his 
school  course  this  spring  to  add  the  name  of  Poor, 
Thomas  Poor,  seaman.  Say  I've  picked  him  for  An- 
napolis." 

"Aye,  aye,  sir." 

Tom  stumbled  out  of  the  cabin.  He  felt  as  though  he 
were  walking  on  air. 

The  two  dreams  of  his  life  were  coming  true :  he  was 
going  to  get  a  college  education  and  he  was  going  to  sea ! 


CHAPTER  II 

A  DASH  TO  COVER 

FOR  a  brief  space  we  must  now  abandon  Tom  Poor, 
seaman  U.  S.  Navy,  to  his  books  and  bandits  and  Fleet 
adventures. 

A  thousand  miles  north  of  Cuba  another  adventure  was 
brewing.  And  it  involved  another  lad  of  an  age  ex- 
actly Tom's. 

The  old  university  town  was  breathless  with  anticipa- 
tion. More  than  a  thousand  young  men  and  boys  stood 
in  little  knots  and  groups  about  the  broad  college  campus 
and  discussed  in  whispers  the  Doming  event. 

"It's  really  tonight?"  asked  one  in  an  awed  voice. 

"Sure,"  said  a  second  student.  "They  always  have  the 
class  rush  the  first  Saturday  in  October." 

"Good  time,  I  guess,"  assented  a  third,  making  a  weak 
pretense  at  being  cheerful.  "Nice  cool  night  for  a 
roughhouse." 

"Roughhouse,"  sneered  the  first  speaker;  "fight  rather, 
I'd  call  it  Why  they  say  sometimes  as  many  as  a  hun- 
dred are  in  the  hospital  after  it's  all  over." 

"Piffle!  Weaklings  and  kids  ought  to  keep  out  of 
such  stuff." 

"Yea  Bo!  there's  one  now." 

Simultaneously  the  group  turned.  A  tall  slender  boy 
was  coming  slowly  down  the  sidewalk-  His  large  brown 
eyes  were  roving  with  vague  interest  over  the  little 

12 


A  DASH  TO  COVER  13 

gatherings  of  disturbed  young  men  about  him.  If  he 
sensed  any  of  their  anxiety,  his  indifferent  manner  cer- 
tainly did  not  show  it. 

"Must  be  a  king,  or  a  president,  or  something  like 
that,"  remarked  the  nearest  student  in  a  loud  voice.  The 
others  roared. 

"That's  Reggie  Van  Brunt,  the  millionaire's  son," 
chirped  someone. 

The  great  battle  was  due  to  come  off  at  seven-thirty. 
Torches  carried  by  the  juniors  and  seniors  lit  up  the 
field.  Far  overhead  loomed  a  black  arch  of  branches 
where  the  great  oaks  intertwined.  A  vast  multitude  of 
students  passed  to  and  fro,  while  the  deep  hum  of  voices 
spread  like  a  warning  for  the  mighty  struggle  about  to 
take  place. 

The  sharp  note  of  a  bugle  cut  the  night  air  and  echoed 
against  the  nearest  buildings. 

"Sophomores  here!"  came  roared  through  a  huge 
megaphone. 

"Sophomores  here!"  five  hundred  voices  took  up  the 
cry. 

In  two  minutes  the  mob  had  formed.  The  entire 
second  year  class  gathered  in  a  black  mass  of  humanity. 
At  the  center,  on  the  shoulders  of  his  classmates,  sat 
the  class  president.  In  the  flickering  light  of  torches, 
his  face  stood  out  white  and  set. 

For  a  second  time  the  trumpet  shrieked.  Instantly, 
eight  hundred  freshmen  flung  themselves  at  the  solid 
body  of  the  older  class.  For  a  moment  there  was  no 
perceptible  movement  of  the  mass.  Men  on  the  edge 
wrestled  frantically.  Some  fell.  Others  staggered  back 
panting. 

Then,  slowly,  the  writhing  aggregation  crept  forward. 


i4  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

Like  a  great  steam  roller  made  up  of  human  beings  it 
moved  heavily  ahead,  felling  and  trampling  all  that  dared 
try  to  stop  it. 

Near  the  university  gate  the  fighting  increased  in  feroc- 
ity. While  no  actual  blows  were  struck,  the  swaying, 
grappling  wrestlers  tore  at  one  another  until  shirts  were 
ripped  from  bodies,  the  shreds  littering  the  ground  like 
a  white  snow. 

Great  cheering  applause  came  from  the  audience. 
First  one  side  and  then  the  other  stood  in  public  favor. 
Torches  were  waved  and  hats  flung  into  the  air  as  evi- 
dences of  the  enthusiasm  with  which  the  terrific  on- 
slaughts were  viewed.  At  last  the  freshman  line  gave 
way.  One  final  short  rush  by  the  supporters  of  the  soph- 
omore president  and  he  was  half  pushed,  half  dragged 
to  a  standing  position  on  the  center  of  a  long  wooden 
bench  that  flanked  the  college  entrance. 

This  was  the  goal :  the  class  that  won  the  rush  had  the 
privilege  for  the  ensuing  year  of  sitting  on  the  bench. 
Thus,  besides  the  joy  of  victory,  there  was  the  undeniable 
advantage  of  being  able  to  occupy  for  the  entire  winter 
this  ancient  relic  and  undisturbedly  scan  the  passerby. 

As  the  Sophomore  cheers  of  triumph  died  away,  a 
more  ominous  cry  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth  among 
the  humiliated  freshmen: 

"Slackers—!" 

"Get  the  slackers!" 

"Yea  Bo,  get  the  slackers  who  wouldn't  stand  by  their 
class !" 

In  a  darkened  dormitory  window  stood  Reggie  Van 
Brunt.  The  Freshman  threat  of  vengeance  fell  upon  his 
ear  with  ominous  meaning.  He  was  a  slacker.  He  had 


A  DASH  TO  COVER  15 

stood  by  and  seen  his  fellows  ground  into  the  campus 
turf  without  making  a  single  effort  to  help. 

"But  I  am  different,"  he  told  himself.  "I  am  a  gen- 
tleman. Why  should  I  be  forced  to  join  that  rowdy 
gang  out  there?" 

"Is  that  the  true  reason?"  whispered  his  Conscience. 
"Come  now,  weren't  you  just  a  little  bit  afraid?" 

"Not  at  all.  I  had  on  good  clothes;  and  I  could  see 
better  up  here." 

"That's  a  lie,"  said  Conscience  coldly.  "You  have 
plenty  of  old  suits  in  the  closet,  and  the  trees  prevent  you 
seeing  much  of  anything  from  this  window." 

Heavy  running  steps  clattered  into  the  dormitory. 

"Reggie  Van  Brunt!"  yelled  an  angry  voice. 

"Oh,  you  slacker!  You  'kindergarten  kid!  Where 
are  you?" 

Reggie's  heart  nearly  stopped.  His  trepidation  at  the 
thought  of  entering  the  rough  and  tumble  had  been  noth- 
ing as  compared  with  the  fear  that  seized  him  now.  It 
was  the  cry  of  a  hunting  wolf-pack  that  dinned  in  his  ears. 
Escape  was  his  only  thought;. 

He  ran  to  the  bathroom.  He  locked  the  door  and 
flung  up  the  window.  Ten  feet  below  was  the  roof  of 
a  back  addition  to  the  building.  He  swung  out  and 
dropped  with  a  clatter  on  the  tin. 

As  he  landed,  the  crash  of  splintering  wood  above  told 
him  that  his  pursuers  had  burst  in  the  bathroom  door. 
Even  while  he  hesitated  in  his  terror,  he  saw  the  eager 
look  of  one  who  hung  out  the  window. 

"Here  he  is,  fellows !  He's  going  to  get  out  by  the 
alley.  Go  'round  and  head  him  off!" 

Reggie  did  not  wait  to  hear  any  more.    With  the  des- 


16  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

perate  courage  of  fear  he  jumped  from  the  roof  to  the 
alley  nearly  fifteen  feet  below.  He  had  no  plan  of  es- 
cape. His  one  aim  was  to  distance  the  mob  behind.  He 
turned  and  raced  down  the  dark  passage. 

He  suddenly  collided  heavily  with  a  dark  body.  The 
shock  threw  him  to  the  ground  and  dazed  him  for  a  mo- 
ment. At  first  he  had  the  flash  of  an  idea  he  might  have 
struck  one  of  the  delivery  horses  that  were  sometimes 
tied  up  here. 

"That  you,  Slacker?"  came  a  gruff  voice  from  the 
mass  beside  him. 

Reggie  leaped  to  his  feet.  He  had  run  headlong  into 
and  knocked  down  the  terror  of  his  class,  the  great 
McGivern  who  was  slated  to  make  the  varsity  football 
team  his  first  year! 

Voices  and  sounds  of  running  feet  came  from  the 
alley  entrance.  That  way  out  was  cut  off.  The  situa- 
tion looked  hopeless. 

Wildly  Reggie  darted  to  the  brick  wall  on  the  side  op- 
posite the  dormitory.  He  clambered  over  and  crossed 
the  little  yard  beyond.  In  two  leaps  he  was  up  the  porch 
steps  and  let  himself  in  by  the  kitchen  door.  With  trem- 
bling fingers  he  slipped  the  bolt. 

For  a  few  minutes  he  stood  panting  and  listened.  No 
sounds  came.  Muffled  voices  in  the  alley  quickly  died 
away.  He  had  escaped. 

To  make  more  sure  he  determined  to  sneak  out  the 
front  of  the  house  he  had  entered.  Although  the  family 
living  there  was  evidently  out,  several  dim  lights  were 
burning. 

Like  a  criminal  Reggie  crept  to  the  street  door.  At 
the  creaking  of  a  board  his  heart  nearly  stopped  beat- 
ing. As  he  passed  the  door  of  a  side  room,  he  saw  a 


A  DASH  TO  COVER  17 

curtain  blow  out  from  an  open  window.  For  an  in- 
stant he  was  sure  it  was  a  ghost  and  nearly  fainted  from 
fright. 

He  reached  the  vestibule  with  shaking  knees.  Never 
before  had  he  realized  what  horror  a  burglar  must  suffer 
who  is  afraid  of  getting  caught. 

He  put  out  his  hand  to  open  the  door.  What  was 
that?  A  step  sounded  on  the  stone  entrance  way.  Reg- 
gie gasped.  He  was  caught.  It  was  the  owner  return- 
ing. 

Quickly  he  darted  into  the  nearest  room,.  At  the  very 
instant  he  left  the  hall,  a  key  rattled  in  the  lock  and  the 
door  swung  open.  He  hid  himself  behind  a  long  curtain. 

"Aha,"  came  a  deep  voice  from  the  hall.  "What's 
this?" 

Reggie  trembled.  It  must  be  his  handkerchief.  He 
remembered  it  had  been  dangling  from  his  pocket  when 
he  entered.  And  it  had  his  name  on  it! 

"  *R.  D.  Van  Brunt/  "  read  the  stern  voice  outside. 
The  handkerchief  had  betrayed  its  master. 

"R.  D.  Van  Brunt,  where  are  you?" 

The  culprit  squeezed  himself  against  the  window  jam. 
Suddenly  a  blinding  light  filled  the  room. 

"Ah,  there  you  are  my  young  friend !" 

Shaking  in  every  limb,  Reggie  came  guiltily  from  the 
hiding  place. 

"And  what  have  you  to  say  for  yourself?" 

The  speaker's  voice  was  impressive  enough  by  itself. 
But  coming  from  the  huge  bearded  man  confronting  the 
unhappy  boy,  it  threw  Reggie  into  an  even  greater  panic. 

"I — uh — "  gasped  Reggie.  His  tongue  stuck  to  the 
roof  of  his  mouth. 

"Very  well,  sir,  if  you  won't  tell  me,  perhaps  you  will 


i8  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET. 

inform   the   police   what   your   presence   here    means." 

The  man  seized  Reggie  roughly  by  the  arm  and  led 
him  out.  As  they  passed  down  the  street  he  kept  up  a 
running  fire  of  abuse. 

"One  of  our  college  bums,  I  suppose.  Been  thrown 
out  on  account  of  bad  behavior,  and  haven't  money 
enough  to  get  home.  Thought  you  would  steal  a  little 
something  from  my  house  and  have  a  little  party  in  the 
city!" 

Instead  of  replying  to  these  accusations,  Reggie  shrank 
behind  the  larger  body  of  his  captor.  On  the  opposite 
side  of  the  street  he  saw  approaching  several  of  the  fresh- 
men who  had  been  bent  on  his  capture  and  punishment. 
For  a  moment  he  felt  almost  grateful  to  the  man  beside 
him. 

The  next  instant  this  feeling  was  replaced  by  one  of 
hatred  and  mortification.  Just  ahead  in  the  glare  of 
the  street  light  he  recognized  the  figure  of  Dr.  Cromwell, 
Dean  of  the  University.  Upon  Dr.  Cromwell's  assist- 
ance Reggie  had  depended  for  an  easy  way  through  col- 
lege. The  old  gentleman  had  been  a  lifelong  friend  of 
his  father.  And  now  he  must  discover  Reggie  in  the 
midst  of  disgrace! 

"Why  hello,  what's  this?"  he  asked  cheerily  as  Reggie 
was  dragged  into  view. 

The  big  man  stopped  and  looked  first  at  Dr.  Cromwell, 
then  at  Reggie. 

"You  know  this  young  man,  Doctor?" 

"I  do  indeed,  Mr.  Jason.  He's  the  son  of  one  of  the 
wealthiest  men  in  Boston.  His  father  and  I — " 

"Well!"  exclaimed  the  first  man.  "Well,  I'll  be  jig- 
gered !"  He  dropped  Reggie  like  a  hot  iron. 


A  DASH  TO  COVER  19 

"No  trouble  is  there?"  inquired  Dr.  Cromwell  in  sud- 
den suspicion. 

"Yes  and  no — mostly  yes,  I  should  say.  Btit  since 
you  know  him,  I'll  let  him  go.  Will  you  let  me  walk 
with  you  and  explain?" 

"Certainly." 

Without  further  word  the  two  turned  and  left  the 
miserable  Reggie. 

What  should  he  do?  So  far  as  he  knew  he  would 
be  in  jail  by  morning.  Or  in  the  clutches  of  his  class- 
mates, which  would  be  almost  more  painful  and  humiliat- 
ing. 

He  must  leave.  Absolutely  nothing  was  to  be  gained 
by  staying  at  the  University.  Four  years  would  never 
be  sufficient  to  live  down  such  a  handicap  of  disgrace  as 
he  had  started  with. 

Reggie  crept  back  to  his  room.  Every  minute  he 
expected  to  be  seized  either  by  the  police  or  by  the  venge- 
ful freshmen.  He  found  the  dormitory  deserted  and 
remembered  that  a  class  meeting  was  in  progress  over 
at  the  assembly  hall. 

His  room  was  as  he  left  it  except  for  the  smashed  door 
and  an  overturned  chair.  No,  there  was  something  else: 

On  the  table  lay  a  yellow  envelope.  It  was  a  tele- 
gram addressed  to  Reginald  Van  Brunt.  With  nervous 
fingers  he  tore  it  open  and  read : 

Come  home  at  once.    Serious. 
FATHER. 

He  read  the  message  over  twice.  What  could  it 
mean?  If  his  father  had  been  ill,  someone  else  would 


20  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

have  sent  the  wire;  something  would  have  been  said 
about  the  illness. 

Half  an  hour  later  he  was  packed.  As  he  took  a  last 
look  about  the  room  where  he  was  to  have  passed  his 
long  anticipated  freshman  year  at  college,  he  saw  the 
crumpled  telegram  on  the  floor. 

"  'Serious,' "  he  said  bitterly.  "What  could  be  serious 
after  this?" 

Thirty-six  hours  later  he  reached  home.  The  family 
doctor  met  him  in  the  library. 

"Dad's  ill?"  asked  Reggie  anxiously. 

"Yes  and  no,"  was  the  reply.  "I  may  as  well  tell  you 
at  once..  Your  father  has  been  wiped  out  financially. 
The  shock  swept  him  off  his  feet.  For  a  few  days  he 
must  remain  absolutely  quiet.  I'm  sorry,  my  boy." 

Reggie  rose  unsteadily.  He  managed  to  murmur  some 
word  of  sympathy  for  his  father  and  leave  the  room. 
Rage  and  disappointment  at  what  he  had  just  heard  im- 
pelled him  to  seek  the  fresh  air  before  he  broke  down 
and  cried  like  a  baby. 

Aimlessly  he  walked  about  the  streets.  For  the  first 
time  in  his  life  he  realized  what  money  meant.  Since 
his  earliest  memory  every  wish  had  been  granted.  He 
had  had  nurses  and  tutors.  He  had  spent  a  year  in 
Paris,  and  another  in  London. 

At  school  age  he  had  gone  to  the  most  exclusive  estab- 
lishments. The  few  clubs  he  belonged  to  were  those  of 
sons  of  rich  men.  No  boy  whose  father  was  not  a 
millionaire  was  fit  for  his  acquaintance — at  least  so  Reg- 
gie had  been  brought  up  to  think. 

His  own  motor  car,  his  racing  sloop,  his  dogs  and 
horses,  all  he  had  come  to  take  for  granted.  Never  for 


A  DASH  TO  COVER  21 

a  moment  had  he  ever  lacked  money — actual  cash.  He 
didn't  even  take  the  trouble  to  think  where  it  might  all 
come  from. 

And  now  it  was  gone ! 

He  must  work  for  a  living  no  doubt.  He  must  go 
out  and  mix  with  the  kind  of  people  he  had  never 
associated  with  except  to  order  them  about. 

At  first  this  thought  maddened  him.  It  brought  back 
the  shame  he  had  felt  at  leaving  the  University.  How 
could  he,  a  fugitive,  a  coward  in  the  eyes  of  his  college 
mates,  hope  to  compete  in  business  with  other  men? 

Then  suddenly  something  hardened  inside  him.  Haz- 
ily he  wondered  if  after  all  the  trouble  wasn't  with  his 
upbringing.  All  his  life  he  been  taught  to  avoid  just 
such  things  as  the  class  rush. 

"I'll  do  it!"  he  declared  aloud.  "I'll  get  a  job,  and 
make  money,  and  go  back  when  all  the  other  fellows 
are  just  graduating;  when  they  haven't  even  started 
yet  in  business!" 

Darkness  came  on.  Despite  his  grief,  Reggie's  ap- 
petite did  not  desert  him.  By  force  of  habit  he  called 
a  taxicab.  "Number  ten,  Park  Avenue,"  he  told  the 
driver. 

He  found  he  had  walked  kwther  into  the  country  than 
he  realized..  On  arrival  back  he  opened  his  purse  to 
pay  the  man.  All  the  change  he  could  muster  up  fell 
half  a  dollar  short  of  the  actual  amount. 

"Charge  it  to  my  father,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,"  he  sakE 
loftily. 

The  cabby  gave  him  an  insolent  look,  and  laughed 
harshly. 

"So  that's  who  you  are!"  he  chortled.     "Might  ha* 


22  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

known  you  was  the  son  of  a  crook — tryin'  to  beat  me  out 
of  the  price  of  a  ride !" 

"You  impertinent—"  began  Reggie  angrily ;  then  broke 
off  with  reddening  cheeks.  So  this  was  what  it  all  meant : 
the  modern  high  finance  he  had  heard  about,  wherein 
men  gather  and  hoard  great  masses  of  wealth  with  honor 
till  they're  caught,  and  then  are  known  as  crooks  when 
fortune  turns  against  them. 

Next  day  he  was  admitted  to  his  father's  room. 

"Never  mind,  Dad,"  he  said  quickly.  "I've  made  up 
my  mind  that  it's  all  right.  I'm  going  after  a  job  to- 
day." 

Mr.  Van  Brunt  smiled.  "No,  no,  my  boy.  It's  not  as 
bad  as  all  that,.  It  is  true  I  have  lost  everything.  Many 
of  my  friends  have  turned  against  me.  But  I  have  not 
cast  you  utterly  adrift.  You  can  still  have  your  educa- 
tion if  you  wish." 

"Without  money,  Dad?" 

For  reply  Mr.  Van  Brunt  turned  to  a  white-haired 
gentleman  Reggie  had  not  yet  noticed.  "Reginald,  this 
is  my  old  friend,  Senator  Brame,"  he  said.  "He  has  a 
plan  for  your  future." 

The  senator  grasped  Reggie's  hand.  "My  boy,  how 
would  you  like  to  go  to  Annapolis?" 

"Why  I  never  thought  of  it,  sir." 

"Well,  I  have  an  appointment  for  you.  Your  father 
says  he  can  manage  to  send  you  to  a  preparatory  school 
in  Washington  for  the  winter.  How  about  it  ?" 

Reggie's  face  lit  up  as  the  idea  took  root.  Here  might 
be  the  chance  he  had  dreamed  of.  A  naval  officer  had 
power  and  prestige.  He  was  of  the  highest  class  socially. 
He  had  privileges  denied  to  all  except  the  wealthy  class 
by  which  Reggie  measured  the  people  about  him.  Cer- 


A  DASH  TO  COVER  23 

tainly  this  opportunity  would  give  him  the  nearest  thing 
to  the  ease  and  luxury  he  had  hoped  would  make  his  life 
a  bed  of  roses.     At  least,  so  Reggie  thought. 
"I'll  take  it,  Dad,  you  bet!"  he  exclaimed. 


CHAPTER  III 

BURIED 


TOM  POOR  and  Reginald  Van  Brunt  didn't  meet  at  An- 
napolis. They  clashed.  Instead  of  by  formal  introduc- 
tion, they  encountered  one  another  in  a  violent  head-on 
collision  their  fellow  midshipmen  remembered  for  years 
afterward. 

This  was  to  be  expected.  Tom  was  active,  rough,  and 
physically  powerful.  Reggie  was  refined  and  snobbish, 
undeveloped,  and  habitually  indolent.  Tom  had  been  to 
sea  and  become  a  hero.  Reggie  had  been  to  college  and 
left  it  in  disgrace.  Tom  had  known  nothing  but  poverty 
and  hardship  since  boyhood.  Reggie  was  a  child  of 
wealth,  and  of  all  the  luxury  that  went  with  wealth. 

Morning  parade  had  just  ended.  Bancroft  Hall,  the 
great  granite  quarters  of  the  midshipmen,  glared  a  blind- 
ing white  in  the  June  sunshine.  To  one  side  lay  the  blue 
belt  of  the  Severn  River;  to  the  other  extended  a  lawn 
of  green  velvet  to  the  row  of  perfectly  matched  officers' 
quarters. 

Six  hundred  young  men  in  white  uniforms  broke  ranks 
with  a  combined  shout  of  relief.  The  heat  was  oppres- 
sive. And,  as  yet,  their  muscles  had  not  hardened  enough 
to  stand  easily  the  strain  of  prolonged  military  exercise. 

Reggie  Van  Brunt  felt  more  than  tired.  The  inter- 
minable shouted  orders  of  the  drill  officer  had  got  on  his 
nerves.  He  was  conscious  of  a  desire  to  snap  at  some- 
one, to  give  vent  in  some  way  to  his  irritation. 

24 


BURIED  ALIVE  25 

Directly  in  front  of  him  he  saw  a  sturdy  figure  stand- 
ing with  wide-braced  legs,  his  hat  jauntily  on  the  back  of 
his  head.  He  was  laughing  and  talking  in  a  loud  voice. 
Here,  at  least,  was  one  who  endured  drills  without  any 
particular  fatigue. 

The  sight  aggravated  Reggie's  disturbed  condition. 
He  stepped  around  where  he  could  get  a  better  look  at 
this  marvel  of  endurance.  One  glance  and  he  recognized 
the  bluejacket  who  had  been  in  the  train  with  him  the 
day  he  arrived. 

He  turned  to   the  midshipman   nearest   him. 

"Well,"  he  sneered,  "what  do  you  know  about 
that?" 

"About  what?"  was  the  vague  reply. 

"Common  sailors  in  this  place !  Common  sailors,  mind 
you!  Washed  dirty  decks  and  all  that.  And  here  I 
thought  this  was  a  gentleman's  school !" 

Tom  spun  around.  From  head  to  foot  he  measured  up 
the  man  who  had  dared  insult  him. 

He  was  on  the  verge  of  laughing  off  the  unkind  re- 
mark. A  smile  twitched  at  one  corner  of  his  mouth. 
Then,  suddenly,  he  got  a  full  understanding  of  the  feel- 
ing behind  it.  He  saw  the  proud  uptilt  of  Reggie's  chin, 
and  felt  the  cold  contempt  it  stood  for. 

"Why,  you  poor  simp !"  burst  Torn  hotly ;  "where  do 
you  come  from,  Germany?" 

"I  spent  a  month  there  once,"  said  Reggie  airily.  "I've 
travelled  you  know." 

A  chorus  of  laughter  applauded  this  well-placed  re- 
tort. Tom's  anger  exploded  at  the  ridicule.  He  stepped 
quickly  forward  his  fist  doubled  and  drawn  back  to, 
strike. 

"Take  it  back,  you  fresh  kid!"  he  roared. 


2b  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

As  Reggie  stood  speechless,  another  instant  and  Tom 
would  have  swung.  Rut  the  fraction  of  a  second  before 
his  fist  started,  a  broad-shouldered,  tow-headed  boy 
stepped  in  between  him  and  the  one  he  was  about  to  anni- 
hilate. 

"Have  a  heart,  Poor.  Can't  you  see  he's  half  your 
weight?" 

"Get  out,  Hansen,"  snorted  Tom,  struggling  to  free 
himself  from  the  big  Swede's  grip.  "He's  insulted  me 
and  I'm  going  to  make  him  apologize !" 

Public  opinion  supported  Hansen.  There  was  a  mur- 
mur of  approval  at  his  interference.  Possibly  there  were 
some  who  felt  with  Reggie  that  their  ambition  to  be- 
come naval  officers  had  been  encroached  upon  by  admis- 
sion of  an  ordinary  enlisted  man. 

Tom  realized  with  blunt  shrewdness  the  truth  of  this 
disadvantage  to  which  his  previous  career  had  brought 
him.  But  the  injustice  of  it  infuriated  him.  How  many 
of  them  would  have  had  the  courage  to  break  out  into 
life  unaided  and  make  good  ? 

After  lunch  he  sought  out  Hansen. 

"You're  a  good  sort,  Swede,"  he  told  him,  "in  spite  of 
the  way  you  acted  before  the  gang.  I  think  maybe 
you've  knocked  about  the  world  a  bit  like  I  have.  That's 
why  I  took  the  trouble  not  to  lose  my  temper  and  knock 
your  block  off  this  morning." 

"How  about  now,  Meester  Poor?"  the  big  fellow 
quietly  put  in.  Though  born  in  America  he  had  assimil- 
ated some  of  his  parents'  native  accent. 

"I'll  take  you  on  in  the  gym  one  of  these  days,"  laughed 
Tom.  "What  I  want  to  tell  you  now,  though,  is  about 
that  skinny-gadink  who  bawled  me  out  before  every- 
body. That  dear  sweet  Reggie  Van  Brunt !"  Tom  forced 


•HE'S   INSULTED   ME   AND   I'M   GOING  TO   MAKE   HIM  APOLOGIZE. 


BURIED  ALIVE  27 

his  voice  into  a  throaty  falsetto  as  he  pronounced  the 
name. 

"Wait  till  he  grows  up,"  advised  Hansen. 

"Wait  nothing.  I'm  going  to  get  him.  Not  bully  him 
or  smash  him  up  with  my  knuckles.  You  put  a  crimp 
into  that.  No,  I'm  going  to  make  a  fool  of  him  in  public. 
I  figure  that's  about  the  best  way  to  take  him  down  off  his 
high  horse." 

"What's  your  plan?" 

"Don't  know  yet.     Got  to  think  it  out." 

At  one  o'clock  there  was  a  boat  drill.  Heavy  Navy 
cutters  were  rowed  out  around  a  lighthouse  two  miles 
down  the  Bay  and  back  again.  Tom  saw  with  joy  Reg- 
gie's drooping  shoulders  as  he  struggled  under  the  heavy 
oars  in  a  boat  behind.  Perhaps  he  could  use  this  as  a 
means  to  humiliate  him. 

But  he  discovered  this  plan  wouldn't  do  as  soon  as  the 
boathouse  was  reached.  Very  few  shoulders  were  not 
drooping.  Pulling  an  oar  exercises  sets  of  muscles  other- 
wise little  used.  Scarcely  a  boy  helped  secure  his  boat 
on  the  davits  without  first  rubbing  his  arms  and  back, 
with  some  remark  to  the  effect  that  "It's  a  dinged  hard 
life,  this  Navy !" 

At  supper  Tom  watched  Reggie  take  his  place  at  the 
far  end  of  a  nearby  table.  He  tried  to  imagine  some 
scheme  by  which  he  could  catch  the  assembled  interest 
of  six  hundred  middies  and  concentrate  it  upon  the) 
bodily  weakness  of  this  man  he  hated  so. 

After  supper  there  was  another  drill.  It  consisted 
of  a  series  of  simple  exercises  at  the  gymnasium,  followed 
by  a  brief  instruction  in  knotting  and  splicing. 

Suddenly  Tom  leaped  from  the  low  bench.  "I've  got 
it!"  he  cried. 


28  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"Did  it  bite?"  inquired  his  neighbor  with  affected  in- 
terest. 

"It  will,"  laughed  Tom.    "You'll  see  it  too!    They'll 

all  see  it." 

He  hunted  up  Hansen.     "Plan's  made,"  he  confided. 

"That  poor  kid  again?" 

"Sure.    Want  to  get  in  on  it?" 

"Not  if  it'll  hurt  him.  Tom,  my  word  on  it,  force 
doesn't  pay  in  these  days  and  times.  Brains  are  what 
count,.  That's  what  this  Naval  Academy  is  for.  Why 
in  the  old  Navy  days — " 

"Aw,  pipe  the  sermon.  I'm  not  going  to  hurt  the  in- 
fant." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  but  what  sweet  Reggie  does  need 
a  lesson.  I'm  with  you  in  spirit  anyway." 

Tom  led  his  friend  to  a  secluded  corner.  For  ten 
solid  minutes  he  whispered  in  his  ear.  Twice  he  made 
him  shake  his  head.  Once  his  words  caused  the  other 
to  whisper  back  a  suggestion.  But  in  the  end  the  two  of 
them  fell  into  each  other's  arms  with  a  roar  of 
heavy  laughter  that  brought  the  officer  in  charge  to  his 
feet. 

The  next  day  was  Saturday.  All  midshipmen  were  ac- 
corded the  weekly  privilege  of  visiting  the  town.  Except 
for  a  change  of  scene  from  the  reservation,  the  little  old- 
fashioned  place  had  small  value  in  the  way  of  entertain- 
ment. True,  for  those  so  inclined,  there  was  a  mild  de- 
gree of  inebriety  in  the  over-eating  of  ice  cream  and 
cake.  And  very  occasionally  the  moving  pictures  were 
worth  seeing.  On  the  whole  it  was  known  to  the  mid- 
shipmen as  a  "sell,"  and  always  referred  to  as  "Crab- 
Town." 

Little  wonder  was   therefore   occasioned   when   Tom 


BURIED  ALIVE  29 

Poor  and  Ole  Hansen  announced  their  determination  to 
spend  the  afternoon  quietly  in  quarters. 

"Got  some  letters  to  write,"  said  Tom.  True  enough 
as  far  as  he  went.  He  had  not  communicated  with  home 
for  nearly  a  month. 

"Guess  I'll  sleep,"  was  Hansen's  excuse. 

But  when  the  building  was  well  cleared  of  midshipmen, 
neither  sleeping  nor  letter  writing  occupied  the  conspira- 
tors. 

"First  we've  got  to  get  the  line,"  noted  Tom. 

"And  a  sack  of  some  sort,"  contributed  the  other. 

With  an  eye  out  for  the  "Jimmy-legs"  or  master-at- 
arms  the  pair  went  on  a  search  in  the  vast  galleries  of  the 
basement. 

Back  in  Tom's  room  they  laid  out  their  finds.  A  coil 
of  stout  rope  and  two  gunny  sacks  made  up  most  of  the 
equipment.  To  this  Tom  added  a  short  stick  he  took 
from  his  laundry  bag. 

"Guess  this'll  be  about  the  right  dope,"  he  concluded, 
after  a  survey. 

"Looks  so  to  me,"  agreed  Ole. 

From  then  till  one  o'clock  the  following  morning  every- 
thing proceeded  in  an  orderly  and  normal  naval  man- 
ner. Supper  formation  at  6.30,  supper  at  6.40,  (oat- 
meal, milk,  and  cold  roast  beef)  and  taps  at  ten. 

Beginning  at  one,  Sunday  morning,  things  began  to 
happen  in  the  lives  of  three  midshipmen :  Tom,  Ole,  and 
one  Reginald  D.  Van  Brunt. 

Tom  moved  first,.  He  slipped  out  of  bed,  opened  the 
door  of  his  study,  and  peered  down  the  broad  corridor. 
The  midshipman-in-charge  had  gone  to  bed.  All  was 
quiet  save  for  the  distant  footsteps  of  a  Jimmy-legs 
making  his  half -hourly  round. 


30  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

He  tiptoed  down  to  Ole's  room  and  shook  the  proprie- 
tor. 

"Wake  up,  you  sea-anchor,"  he  whispered. 

"Ump — what  time  is  it?"  was  the  sleepy  reply. 

"One  o'clock  in  the  morning;  but  we've  got  to  hurry 
at  that..  Neptune  only  knows  how  long  this  job's  going 
to  take." 

They  were  able  to  reach  Reggie's  room  undiscovered. 
It  was  on  the  floor  below.  One  of  the  tremendous  wings 
of  Bancroft  Hall  had  been  given  over  to  the  new  class 
or  "plebes"  as  they  are  called.  Each  room  is  really  a 
suite  consisting  of  a  central  study,  two  tiny  bedrooms,  a 
bath,  and  a  large  closet.  Two  boys  occupy  a  suite. 

This  arrangement  made  it  possible  for  the  kidnappers 
to  reach  Reggie  without  disturbing  his  roommate. 

Tom  took  the  lead.  Probably  his  incentive  was  greater 
than  Ole's.  He  crept  up  to  the  bed  dimly  visible  in  the 
darkness.  In  his  hand  he  carried  a  towel.  Having  lo- 
cated the  head  of  his  victim,  with  a  quick  movement  he 
wrapped  the  cloth  tight  about  his  head. 

"B-r-r-r,  g-r-l-p,  Urlph!"  choked  Reggie. 

"Urlph  yourself,"  snickered  Tom. 

"Don't  fool  about  it,"  hissed  Ole,  still  a  little  anxious 
about  the  dangerous  possibilities  of  the  episode. 

"All  right ;  where's  that  rope  ?" 

Tom  took  the  proffered  coil  and  unwound  a  fathom  or 
so.  Meanwhile  he  sat  upon  his  squirming  captive. 
Skilfully  he  bound  him  with  good  seagoing  knots  about 
his  knees  and  wrists.  This  enabled  Reggie  to  walk  with- 
out giving  him  the  slightest  chance  to  escape. 

Before  removing  him  from  the  room,  the  towel  was  ex- 
changed for  a  gag  and  blindfold. 

"For  heaven's  sake  be  careful  of  talking,"  whispered 


BURIED  ALIVE  31 

Ole.  "If  he  recognizes  us,  he'll  squeal  as  sure  as  shoot- 
ing." 

Stealthily  the  trio  made  the  basement  four  floors  below. 
Tom  and  Ole  each  held  an  arm  of  the  stumbling  Reg- 
gie. From  time  to  time  a  nudge  or  a  shove  were  neces- 
sary to  urge  upon  him  greater  efforts  at  speed.  No  ac- 
tual physical  punishment  was  applied. 

It  wasn't  that  Tom  wouldn't  gladly  have  thrashed  the 
boy  then  and  there.  His  rough  code  of  ethics  fully  ap- 
proved of  such  a  course.  But  Ole  Hansen  as  well  as  the 
others  had  not  backed  him  up  in  this  kind  of  brutal  disci- 
pline which  he  knew  would  have  been  perfectly  proper 
among  the  sailormen  he  hati  become  used  to  in  the  Fleet. 

At  first  he  had  thought  this  was  a  class  difference. 
These  boys  entering  Annapolis  were  mostly  sons  of  well- 
to-do  families  and  had  had  years  of  schooling.  But  that 
was  also  true  of  a  great  many  of  the  new  enlisted  men. 
No,  the  difference  was  more  an  attitude  of  mind ;  the  blue- 
jacket was  used  to  settling  his  difficulties  himself ;  the 
midshipman  had  become  previously  accustomed  to  have 
those  in  authority  settle  things  for  him. 

"Now  for  the  moat,"  said  Tom  when  they  had  forced 
their  way  into  the  lowest  level. 

Bancroft  Hall  is  surrounded  by  a  deep  concrete  al- 
ley which  is  supposed  to  admit  light  to  the  kitchens  and 
laundry  and  other  activities  necessary  to  the  midship- 
man's home  life.  As  a  fact,  though,  this  alley  provides 
in  most  cases  an  effective  means  of  preventing  the  escape 
of  the  boys. 

The  moat  was  gained  by  forcing  a  window.  Tom 
then  brought  a  ladder  he  had  spotted  on  their  afternoon 
exploration.  With  considerable  difficulty  they  finally 
succeeded  in  getting  Reggie  up  it. 


32  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"Have  you  counted  on  the  watchman?"  cautioned  Ole. 

"I've  figured  it  all  out  ahead,"  Tom  replied.  "He 
passes  here  twice  an  hour  on  the  quarter  hours.  If  I'm 
not  mistaken  there  he  conies  now." 

The  three  criminals  dodged  low  in  the  shadow  of  the 
moat's  retaining  wall  while  the  man  passed. 

"Right  across  Lover's  Lane  from  here,"  Tom  directed. 
He  referred  to  that  main  portion  of  the  campus  which 
had  always  been  the  chief  attraction  for  midshipmen  and 
their  girls  who  came  down  for  Saturday  night  hops.  On 
Sunday  after  chapel  the  benches  were  usually  fully  oc- 
cupied. 

The  chapel  itself  faced  one  side  of  the  Lane.  It  was 
a  massive  white  building  to  match  Bancroft  Hall.  Hun- 
dreds of  feet  in  the  air  its  mammoth  dome  of  gold  shone 
a  ghostly  yellow  in  the  pale  moonlight. 

Across  the  open  space  they  carried  Reggie.  This  way 
more  speed  could  be  made;  and  speed  was  necessary. 
On  all  sides  there  was  a  dangerous  lack  of  cover. 

By  a  little  side  door  they  made  the  cavernous  gallery 
under  the  chapel.  In  the  center,  showing  dimly,  was  the 
great  stone  crypt  that  held  the  remains  of  John  Paul 
Jones. 

"Wonder  what  he  thinks  of  this  business,"  queried 
Ole  in  awed  tones. 

"Thinks  it's  silly,"  replied  Tom  promptly  and  with  no 
sign  of  nervousness.  "He'd  have  done  just  what  I 
wanted  to  do,  and  you  wouldn't  let  me ;  knocked  the  man 
down  who  dared  insult  him." 

"Yes,"  observed  Ole  sagely,  "he  had  the  time  to  de- 
velop his  fists  and  footwork.  Our  time  we  must  put  in 
on  our  brains.  There  wasn't  any  radio  or  electrical  en- 
gineering in  those  days." 


BURIED  ALIVE  33 

"Preach  ahead,  Swede,  we're  in  the  chapel  you  know." 
Tom's  intolerance  of  the  other  boy's  reasoning  never 
failed. 

With  a  feeling  of  relief  they  left  the  region  of  the 
dead  and  mounted  the  stairway  to  the  main  chapel. 
Here  another  kind  of  discomfort  assailed  them.  The 
enormous  size  of  the  dome,  lit  only  by  the  ghastly  pale- 
ness of  the  moon  that  filtered  through  the  long  windows 
gave  them  a  sort  of  creeps. 

"I'm  not  specially  superstitious,"  mumbled  Tom,  "but 
gosh!  this  kind  of  gets  next  to  me.  I  can  feel  it  under 
my  skin.  Can't  you?" 

"You  bet,"  returned  Ole,  keeping  a  little  closer  than 
was  necessary  to  Tom  and  the  victim.  "Guess  it's 
better  this  kid  doesn't  know  where  we're  putting 
him." 

On  the  raised  platform,  between  the  choir  stalls,  Tom 
stopped. 

"Here  it  is,"  he  said,  and  leaned  over.  After  a  short 
struggle  he  lifted  up  a  kind  of  trap-door  disclosing  a 
black  hole  underneath. 

"So  that's  where  you're  going  to  put  him?" 

"Yes,"  explained  Tom.  "I  remember  the  repair  gang 
were  fixing  the  light  connections  down  here  this  week. 
This  hole  is  only  three  feet  deep  and  the  lid  is  tempor- 
ary." 

"But  how  are  you  going  to  make  this  bird  stay  there  ?" 

For  reply  Tom  gently  tripped  and  threw  Reggie  to  the 
flagged  pavement.  He  took  the  remainder  of  the  coil  he 
had  brought  along,  and  passed  a  series  of  peculiar  turns 
about  the  arms,  legs,  and  wrists  of  the  prostrate  boy. 
With  the  stick  these  lashings  were  made  into  a  sort  of 
truss  that  left  him  utterly  helpless. 


34  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"Trick  I  learned  in  the  Fleet,"  said  Tom  when  he  fiad 
finished. 

"But  you  swore  not  to  hurt  him,"  protested  .Ole 
"This  will  be  torture." 

"On  the  contrary  he  will  be  perfectly  comfortable — 
for  several  hours  anyway.  That's  the  object  of  these 
knots — 'prisoner's  splice'  it's  called.  They  taught  it  to 
us  down  south  when  we  used  to  round  up  some  of  those 
rioters  in  Haiti." 

Ole  bowed  to  the  superior  knowledge  and  experience 
of  his  companion.  But  when  he  helped  lower  Reggie  into 
the  hole,  he  still  had  doubts. 

"How  are  you  going  to  get  him  out?" 

Tom  shoved  the  trap-door  in  place  with  a  chuckle. 
"Simple  enough.  Here's  my  jackknife  and  lanyard.  I 
have  laid  Mister  Van  Brunt  in  such  a  position  that  if  the 
knife  falls  through  this  hole  at  the  edge  of  the  door  it 
will  land  within  reach  of  his  hands.  That  splice  I  used 
is  such  that  he  cannot  untie  himself,  but  he  can  handle  a 
knife  freely  enough  to  cut  the  lashings." 

"All  very  well.     But  who's  going  to  drop  the  knife?" 

"The  battalion  adjutant,  Harry  Gill.  Tomorrow's  the 
first  Sunday  in  the  month  you  know.  He  reads  Rocks 
and  Shoals  *  at  the  beginning  of  chapel.  Hank's  a  ner- 
vous shrimp.  Right  here  is  where  he  stands.  While  he 
reads,  he  shuffles  all  over  the  place.  If  I  shove  my  knife 
in  the  hole  and  leave  it  sticking  out  the  eighth  of  an  inch 
he'll  knock  it  down  sure,." 

"And  what  then?" 

"Oh    boy!"    Tom    hugged    himself    at   the    prospect. 

*  Rocks  and  Shoals."  i.  e.  the  Navy  regulations  which  are 
read  on  the  first  Sunday  in  every  month  to  the  assembled  crews 
aboard  ships,  and  to  the  midshipmen  at  Annapolis. 


BURIED  ALIVE  35 

""Why  dear  sweet  little  Reggie  will  think  he's  been  tied 
up  in  the  basement  of  one  of  the  academic  buildings. 
He  will  cut  himself  loose  with  joy.  The  cramp  in  his 
legs  will  make  him  have  to  get  up  and  move  about.  And 
then—" 

"Paul  Jones  rises  from  his  grave !"  exploded  Ole. 


CHAPTER  IV 

AN  ADMIRAL  AT  BAY 

SUNDAY  came  serene  and  calm  and  hot. 

Admiral  Lacy,  the  Commandant  of  Midshipmen,  was 
also  hot ;  he  was  anything  but  serene  and  calm. 

His  day  was  ruined  from  the  outset  by  the  arrival  of 
Commander  Hill,  his  aide. 

"Another  anonymous  letter,  sir,"  announced  the  Com- 
mander, holding  out  a  dirty  and  crumpled  envelope. 

The  Admiral  fairly  snatched  at  the  missive. 

"Dere  sir,"  he  read,  "i've  seed  lately  many  of  your 
mids  commin'  in  and  out  uv  the  place  where  Charley  the 
cobbler  lives.  Looks  like  they  ain't  behavin  theirselves 
as  they  should.  Plese  take  this  as  it  is  ment.  Sig.  a 
frend." 

"I  have  investigated,  sir,"  began  the  Commander,  "and 
find  that  nothing  is  wrong.  A  good  many  of  the  mid- 
shipmen have  been  going  to  this  Charley  Simmons  to 
have  rubber  heels  put  on  their  shoes.  Our  own  cobbler 
shop  has  run  out  of  them." 

The  Admiral  slammed  his  fist  on  the  table.  "It's  the 
rotten  spirit  of  the  thing!"  he  barked.  "The  writer  of 
this  letter  probably  pictures  our  boys  getting  filled  up 
with  liquor  at  that  place.  And  he  hasn't  the  courage  to 
come  and  tell  me  about  it  face  to  face!" 

"He's  a  coward  all  right,"  agreed  the  aide.  "He  has 
already  spread  the  gossip  all  over  town  that  midshipmen 
are  getting  out  of  hand." 

36 


AN  ADMIRAL  AT  BAY  37 

An  inarticulate  gurgle  of  rage  escaped  the  furious 
Admiral.  His  predecessor  had  been  removed  the  year  be- 
fore after  just  such  baseless  slander. 

"If  I  catch  that  fellow,  I'll  jail  him!"  he  roared. 

At  this  moment  a  knock  came  at  the  door  followed  by 
the  arrival  of  the  marine  orderly. 

"A  lady  to  see  you,  sir." 

The  unhappy  Admiral  groaned.  He  turned  to  his  aide 
with  a  hunted  look.  "Hill,  I  really  doubt  the  wisdom 
of  this  Sunday  morning  plan.  I  thought  it  a  good  idea 
to  let  parents  and  interested  friends  come  to  me  between 
nine  and  ten  because  many  of  them  cannot  arrange  to 
reach  me  during  the  week.  But — " 

A  sudden  rumpus  arose  outside  the  office  door.  In 
the  reception  room,  parents  were  supposed  to  wait  their 
turn.  From  it  now  came  the  angry  tones  of  a  woman's 
voice.  An  instant  later  the  door  burst  open  and  there 
entered  a  tall  angular  lady  with  her  hat  awry,  her  face 
purple  with  wrath,.  In  her  hands  she  gripped  a  large 
umbrella. 

Behind  her  came  the  other  marine  orderly,  his  hair 
mussed  and  his  stiff  hat  crumpled.  Very  evidently  he 
had  been  in  combat  with  the  visitor. 

"Beg  pardon,  sir,"  he  stammered,  "but  she  wouldn't  see 
fit  as  to  wait  'er  turn,  sir." 

Before  the  astonished  Commandant  could  open  his 
mouth,  the  excited  woman  exploded  in  a  stream  of  shrill 
abuse. 

"I  wouldn't  wait  my  turn,  wouldn't  I?"  She  glared 
from  the  orderly  to  the  Admiral,  both  speechless.  "Why 
should  I  wait  my  turn  with  this  on  my  mind?" 

Dramatically  she  put  her  hand  in  her  bag  and  drew  out 
a  large  and  bloody  handkerchief. 


3g  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"It's  my  boy's!"  Her  voice  broke  and  tears  filled 
"her  eyes.  "He's  being  tortured,.  He's  being  murdered 
in  this — this — penitentiary!" 

The  Admiral  sighed  with  relief.  This  kind  of  thing 
he  could  deal  with.  As  the  lady  had  played  her  trump 
card  at  the  very  beginning,  he  knew  exactly  where  he 
stood. 

"Sit  down,  madam,"  he  said  courteously,  and  waved  her 
to  a  chair.  "Now  tell  me,  please,  who  your  boy  is." 

She  dabbed  her  eyes  with  the  corner  of  the  gory  evi- 
dence she  had  brought.  "George  Melville  Audrey  John- 
son," she  moaned,. 

"Orderly,"  commanded  the  Admiral  gravely,  "tell  the 
Officer-in-Charge  I  wish  George  Melville  Audrey  John- 
son here  at  once.  And  have  him  bring  the  conduct  re- 
port." 

"Aye,  aye,  sir."  The  orderly  saluted  and  departed 
with  a  grin  that  broadened  with  every  step. 

"The  bloody  handkerchief,  madam?"  inquired  the 
Admiral.  "Er — did  he  say  how  it  er — happened?" 

"No"  was  the  indignant  reply,  "his  sense  of  honor  is 
too  fine  for  that.  I  found  it  in  his  coat  pocket  when  he 
came  to  visit  me  at  the  hotel." 

At  this  juncture  there  were  ushered  in  two  midship- 
men. One  wore  a  duty  belt;  the  other  was  attired  in  a 
rather  untidy  uniform. 

"Audrey !"  murmured  the  fond  mother.  The  boy  gave 
her  a  cold  glance  and  glared  with  keen  interest  out  of  the 
window  where  a  Jimmy-legs  was  adjusting  the  flagpole 
halliards. 

"Mr.  Johnson's  conduct  report?"  brusquely  demanded 
the  Admiral. 


AN  ADMIRAL  AT  BAY  39 

The  duty  midshipman  took  a  roll  of  white  paper  from 
under  his  arm  and  began  to  read  in  a  monotone. 

"June  first,  neglect  of  duty,  fifteen  demerits.  June 
second,  smoking  in  quarters,  fifty  demerits.  June  third 
created  disturbance  after  taps,  ten  demerits.  June 
fourth,—" 

The  Admiral  held  up  his  hand.  "That  will  do  for  the 
report."  He  turned  to  the  sullen  Audrey.  "Mr.  John- 
son are  you  afflicted  often  with  nose  bleed?"  He  pointed 
to  the  bloody  handkerchief  in  Mrs.  Johnson's  lap. 

"No  sir,  I — "  he  suddenly  caught  the  accusing  eye  of 
the  duty  midshipman  who  had  moved  a  step  nearer. 
"Well,  sir,  I  uh — I  took  a  piece  of  cake  outa  the  locker 
of  another  fellow's  room  and  he — he — "  Audrey's  voice 
failed  him. 

"Yes?"  invited  the  Admiral  in  a  fatherly  note  that 
caused  the  aide  to  bite  his  tongue. 

"Yes,  yes?"  echoed  Mrs.  Johnson  pathetic  in  her  sym- 
pathy. 

"Well,  he  uh — "  went  on  Audrey.  The  duty  midship- 
man gave  him  a  slight  nudge  of  encouragement.  "He 
busted  me  in  the  nose,  sir ;  and  called  me  a  thief,  he  did, 
sir!" 

"Well,  weren't  you?"  was  the  Admiral's  suave  in- 
quiry. 

Mrs.  Johnson  rose  from  her  chair  and  rushed  across 
the  room.  She  stretched  her  arms  protectingly  toward 
the  youthful  criminal.  "My  Audrey  a  thief?"  she  cried. 
"Never!  Never!" 

'But  Audrey  saw  her  first.  He  dodged  and  sidestepped. 
With  a  look  of  agonized  pleading  he  caught  the  Admi- 
ral's stern  eye.  The  Admiral  rose. 


40  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"Open  the?  door,  orderly,"  he  said  quietly. 

Nimbly  George  Melville  Audrey  Johnson  escaped,  fol- 
lowed by  his  heartbroken  mother  and  the  convulsed  duty 
midshipman. 

The   Commandant   mopped   his   weatherbeaten   brow, 

"Who's  next,  Hill?"  he  asked  wearily. 

"Senator  Brame,  sir." 

The  Senator  entered  and  bowed  slightly.  He  stood  in 
awe  of  no  military  rank.  The  National  Congress  of 
which  he  was  a  distinguished  member  ruled  both  the 
Army  and  the  Navy.  Indeed,  this  Admiral  before  him 
held  his  rank  only  by  and  with  the  approval  of  the  august 
body  of  the  Senate. 

"Good  morning,  Admiral,"  he  said  running  his  gaze 
appraisingly  over  the  old  sea-dog's  well-knit  figure,  square 
jaws,  and  keen  unwavering  eyes. 

"Good  morning,  Senator  Brame,"  greeted  Admiral 
Lacy.  He  had  encountered  political  shrewdness  before 
and  was  on  his  guard  at  once. 

"I  come  to  you  about  the  son  of  an  old  friend  of  mine. 
Reginald  Van  Brunt.  I'd  like  to  know  how  he  is  get- 
ting along." 

The  Admiral  bowed  assent  and  rang  for  the  orderly. 
"Send  Reginald  Van  Brunt  to  my  office." 

The  Senator  took  in  the  marine's  sharp  "Aye,  aye,  sir," 
and  smart  salute  with  unmistakable  disapproval. 

He  shook  his  head.     "Too  Prussian,"  he  commented. 

"What  would  you  have?"  asked  the  Admiral  pleas- 
antly. "The  soldier  in  war,  the  policeman  in  peace, 
both  must  learn  implicit  obedience.  In  no  other  way  can 
we  fully  utilize  their  value  to  the  country  in  time  of 
emergency." 

"That's  all  very  well,  Admiral.     But  such  matters  can 


AN  ADMIRAL  AT  BAY  41 

be  carried  too  far.  Take  this  boy  I  am  inquiring  about. 
While  perfectly  able  to  stand  your  course  here,  he  is 
undeniably  delicate.  He  has  also  what  is  called  a  nervous 
temperament." 

"Annapolis,  Senator,  is  just  the  place  in  the  world  for 
that  type.  It  strengthens  the  boy's  character  as  well  as 
his  body." 

"I  agree  with  you  in  principle.  What  I  doubt  is  the 
means  by  which  such  a  change  will  be  brought  about." 

"They  are  approved  by  Congress — our  rules  and  regu- 
lations." 

"Yes,  the  official  ones.     But  how  about  hazing?" 

"Not  a  stone  left  unturned  to  stamp  it  out." 

"You  don't  say,  though,  that  it  is  stamped  out" 

For  a  moment  the  Admiral  did  not  reply.  To  debate 
such  a  delicate  subject  with  a  Senator  compelled  him 
to  exercise  his  utmost  care  not  to  be  misunderstood. 

"Senator,"  he  said  at  last;.  "I  don't  wish  to  beat  about 
the  bush.  You  are  in  a  position  to  hold  against  me  what 
I  say.  Therefore  I  will  try  to  be  very  frank.  There 
are  two  kinds  of  hazing." 

"There  can't  be !"  was  the  sharp  retort. 

"I  insist  there  are,"  continued  the  Admiral  firmly. 
"First,  there  is  that  concerted  action  by  a  whole  upper 
class  or  classes  to  coerce  the  lowest  class  into  a  code  of 
discipline  not  sanctioned  by  authority.  Special  painful 
punishments  are  devised  to  make  fourth-classmen  or 
plebes  obey.  They  are  compelled  to  perform  in  some 
silly  manner ;  to  stand  on  their  heads ;  to  carry  out  various 
other  absurd,  though  seldom  dangerous  antics," 

"Agreed,  Admiral,  so  far." 

"This  kind  of  hazing  we  have  nearly  eradicated.  It 
is  a  kind  of  mutiny.  It  attempts  to  substitute  the  will  of 


42  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

a  body  of  immature  students  for  the  matured  will  of  the 
Superintendent  backed  by  the  Navy  Department." 

"Quite  right,  sir." 

"The  second  kind  of  hazing  I  approve." 

The  Senator  raised  his  eyebrows.  He  made  a  mental 
note  to  look  up  the  Commandant's  record  as  soon  as 
he  got  back  to  Washington. 

"It  is  that  unavoidable  nature  of  a  boy  which  will  not 
endure  certain  caddish  traits  in  other  boys.  It  is  that 
which  makes  the  sneak,  the  coward,  the  er — what  my 
young  men  call  'sis,'  have  a  hard  time  when  they  go  to 
Annapolis  or  West  Point,  to  Yale  or  to  Harvard.  And) 
for  the  good  of  the  country  at  large  it  is  quite  right  such 
boys  should  have  a  hard  time." 

Before  the  Senator  had  a  chance  to  offer  his  own 
opinion  on  this  point,  the  orderly  returned  and  announced 
that  Mr.  Van  Brunt  was  not  to  be  found  in  his  room. 

"Have  the  word  passed  about  the  decks  and  on  the, 
terrace  for  him,"  ordered  the  Admiral.  Then  turning 
to  the  Senator,  "And  what  do  you  think,  sir  ?"  he  said. 

"There  is  truth  in  what  you  say,  Admiral.  No  group 
of  boys  ever  lived  who  do  not  take  the  first  opportunity 
to  play  pranks  on  the  weak  and  gullible.  The  danger  lies 
in  the  extent  to  which  such  things  are  allowed  to  go." 

"Which  is  just  where  the  discipline  comes  in,"  inter- 
rupted the  Admiral. 

"Yes,  if  you  are  able  to  forestall  the  brutality  of  boys 
older  and  stronger  than  the  average,  I  should  have  noth- 
ing to  fear.  But  with  over  two-thousand  midshipmen, 
not  a  few  of  whom  have  been  to  sea  as  enlisted  men,  per- 
mit me  to  say  that  you  have  nearly  a  superhuman  task." 

"Our  system  is  the  best  in  the  world,"  announced  the 
Admiral  proudly. 


AN  ADMIRAL  AT  BAY  4S 

When  just  here  the  orderly  returned  for  the  second 
time  with  the  report  that  Reginald  Van  Brunt  was  not  to 
be  located  in  or  out  of  quarters,  the  Commandant  could 
not  conceal  his  anxiety. 

"Send  the  Officer-in-Charge  here  at  once  "  he  directed. 

It  was  aggravating  enough  to  have  the  Senator  pry- 
ing into  the  Academy's  affairs.  But  for  anything  to 
happen  just  now  to  the  very  boy  in  question  would  be 
terrible. 

Perhaps  Senator  Brame  read  some  of  the  disquiet  in 
the  naval  officer's  mind.  And,  though  a  middle-aged 
man  himself,  he  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  bully 
a  bit  just  like  any  boy. 

"You  understand  my  position,  Admiral,"  he  declaimed 
pompously.  "The  Naval  Academy  is  supported  and  run 
by  the  taxpayer's  money.  Its  responsibility  is  far  beyond 
that  of  the  ordinary  school  or  university.  It  is  my  duty 
as  a  representative  of  the  people  to  inquire  into  your 
methods." 

"Yes;  quite  right,  quite  right,"  was  the  absentminded 
reply.  The  Admiral  was  cudgelling  his  brain  to  imagine 
what  mortifying  stunt  had  been  arranged  by  the  midship- 
men at  the  expense  of  Reginald  Van  Brunt.  He  well 
knew  no  punishment  lay  within  his  power  that  would 
offset  the  effect  of  such  a  prank  on  the  Senator.  Dimly 
he  regretted  having  boasted  so  openly  about  the  success 
of  his  disciplinary  system  over  the  obstreperous  mid- 
shipmen. 

"And,"  concluded  the  Senator  with  meaning,  "if  I 
see  anything  suspicious,  I  shall  certainly  report  it." 

The  Admiral  fervently  prayed  he  should  find  Annapo- 
lis at  its  best. 

But  even  Admirals  can  be  disappointed. 


44  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

The  Officer-in-Charge,  Lieutenant  Commander  Kil- 
duff,  here  appeared  with  a  serious  expression  printed  all 
over  his  ordinarily  jovial  countenance. 

"Admiral,"  said  he,  "I'm  afraid  Mr.  Van  Brunt  is 
guilty  of  frenching." 

"Frenching — taking  French  leave;"  interpreted  the 
Admiral.  "That  is,  absent  from  the  ground  without  au- 
thority." His  voice  had  regained  its  customary  brisk- 
ness. His  relief  was  great  to  learn  that  the  Senator's  pet 
was  like  Mrs.  Johnson's  erring  boy,  a  culprit  in  the  eyes 
of  the  law. 

"I  strongly  doubt  this  officer's  information,"  was  the 
Senator's  unruffled  reply. 

"I  have  sent  out  a  searching  party,"  spoke  up  Mr. 
Kilduff  somewhat  hurt.  "I  expect  a  report  inside  of 
an  hour." 

"In  the  meanwhile,  let's  have  Sunday  parade  and  in- 
spection," suggested  the  Admiral.  "It's  time."  He  felt 
by  this  means  he  might  divert  Senator  Brame's  unpleas- 
ant suspicions  and  possibly  entertain  him  until  substan- 
tial evidence  could  be  got  that  Reginald  Van  Brunt  de- 
served none  of  the  high-caste  sympathy  being  wasted  on 
him. 

Evidence  came  soon  enough :  but  it  was  of  a  dreadful 
and  unexpected  kind. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  DISASTER 

LET  us  now  return  to  Reggie.  How  was  he  passing 
the  long  and  painful  hours  between  the  moment  of  his 
capture  and  the  visit  of  Senator  Brame  on  his  behalf? 

In  the  first  place,  Tom  and  Ole  were  mistaken  when 
they  thought  Reggie  didn't  recognize  them.  Reggie 
hadn't  said  a  word  or  struggled  simply  because  all  his  life 
he  had  been  a  weakling.  He  had  long  ago  learned  that 
when  in  the  hands  of  stronger  boys  he  might  as  well  take 
what  they  had  in  store  for  him.  Resistance  only  meant 
punishment. 

On  the  other  hand,  they  had  been  successful  when 
they  bandaged  his  eyes  and  ears.  As  he  lay  bound  and 
helpless  in  the  chapel  he  had  not  the  slightest  idea  where 
he  was. 

Just  before  Tom  replaced  the  board  cover  to  the  hole, 
he  had  removed  the  bandages  in  order  that  Reggie  might 
not  miss  the  knife  when  it  fell. 

For  a  few  minutes  Reggie  heard  the  two  whispering 
over  his  head.  A  little  later  the  door  creaked.  Then 
all  was  still. 

With  the  knowledge  that  he  was  alone  Reggie's  fear 
left  him.  In  fact,  the  only  timidity  he  had  ever  had 
was  of  a  physical  kind.  He  possessed  a  cynical  disbe- 
lief of  ghosts  and  superstition. 

He  began  to  make  efforts  to  free  himself.  Though 
his  hands  were  tied  in  front  of  him,  he  soon  found  the 

45 


46  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

knots  too  firm  to  unloose.  His  knees  and  ankles  were 
in  one  tight  mass  with  the  stick. 

After  a  bit  his  squirming  gave  him  a  cramp  in  one 
side.  This  made  him  anxious.  If  he  was  to  be  left 
until  daylight,  small  pains  might  easily  grow  into  acute 
and  unbearable  agony. 

His  imagination  began  to  torture  him.  He  remem- 
bered all  the  books  about  men  captured  by  pirates  and 
bandits  and  crutlly  forced  to  confess  the  whereabouts 
of  hidden  treasure. 

Suppose  anything  happened  to  Tom  and  Ole?  How, 
would  other  people  know  where  to  look  for  him?  In 
the  old  days  his  father  would  have  immediately  expended 
large  sums  to  organize  -search  parties  and  to  provide  re- 
wards for  information.  There  was  no  chance  of  that 
now ! 

The  pain  in  his  side  grew  worse.  He  wriggled  first 
one  way  and  then  the  other.  Finally  he  managed  to  get 
over  on  his  back. 

As  he  did  so  he  felt  his  knees  strike  something  above. 
Simultaneously  there  was  a  slight  thud  alongside  him  as 
if  some  small  object  had  fallen. 

He  lay  still  listening  intently.  There  was  no  further 
sound.  He  made  the  discovery  that  a  faint  light  was 
visible  through  a  crack  directly  above  his  face. 

Another  few  minutes  passed — they  seemed  like  an 
age  to  Reggie — and  his  cramp  forced  him  to  roll  over 
again  on  his  side.  This  time  he  felt  something  cold 
near  one  hand.  As  his  fingers  were  free  he  picked  the 
object  up. 

To  his  great  joy  he  realized  he  had  hold  of  a  knife. 

It  was  the  work  of  a  comparatively  short  time  to  saw 


THE  DISASTER  47 

through  the  lashings  on  his  wrist.  Those  on  his  legs 
were  heavier  but  finally  came  off. 

Every  few  moments  he  stopped  to  listen.  If  the  kid- 
nappers were  still  about,  it  wouldn't  do  to  let  them  know 
he  was  getting  free. 

When  the  last  shred  of  rope  fell  clear,  he  closed  the 
knife  and  put  it  into  his  pocket  for  future  service.  He 
felt  cautiously  overhead.  For  a  moment  the  awful 
thought  assailed  him  that  he  had  been  buried  alive  and 
this  was  a  coffin  in  which  he  lay. 

The  board  door  lifted  easily.  Reggie  slowly  stood  up. 
His  eyes,  accustomed  to  the  darkness,  quickly  told  him 
his  prison  was  the  chapel.  The  tall  windows  under  the 
dome  were  distinctly  outlined  by  the  moonlight. 

With  care  to  keep  in  the  shadows,  Reggie  made  his 
way  around  the  central  pews  to  the  entrance.  The  mas- 
sive bronze  doors  proved  to  be  locked.  Next  he  tried 
several  of  the  windows  without  success. 

Then  he  recalled  the  basement  entrances.  Down  the 
winding  stairway  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  Paul 
Jones  lay  buried  there.  He  wondered  if  this  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  the  joke. 

The  side  basement  door  proved  to  be  unlocked.  Out- 
side no  one  was  in  sight.  Apparently  there  was  going 
to  be  no  great  difficulty  in  getting  back  to  Bancroft  Hall 
unless  the  watchman  caught  him. 

He  was  almost  to  the  terrace  when  one  appeared.  In- 
stantly Reggie  dodged  behind  a  tree.  But  he  was  too 
late.  The  man  had  seen  him.  He  waited  for  a  few  sec- 
onds to  be  sure  the  watchman  was  going  to  give  chase. 
Then  he  ran.  Instinctively  he  took  the  direction  from 
which  he  had  just  come.  Twice  he  looked  over  his  shoul- 


48  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

der.  He  could  hear  the  thudding  steps  of  his  pursuer. 
Then  with  delight  he  realized  he  was  holding  his  own. 
He  was  able  to  run  as  fast  as  the  watchman ! 

This  discovery  gave  him  an  unaccustomed  sense  of 
confidence.  Always  in  the  past  he  had  run  with  the 
greatest  terror  of  being  overtaken  and  punished.  Now 
he  realized  that  escape  did  not  depend  upon  his  fleetness 
of  foot  so  much  as  the  strategy  which  he  might  use  to 
throw  the  man  off  the  trail. 

By  this  time  he  had  reached  the  chapel  again.  Think- 
ing rapidly  he  ran  straight  'for  the  wall.  Just  before  he 
reached  it,  he  was  for  a  moment  out  of  sight  of  the 
watchman  in  the  shadow  of  a  nearby  building.  In- 
stantly he  doubled  back  and  reentered  the  chapel  by  the 
door  from  which  he  had  escaped  but  a  few  minutes  be- 
fore. Instead  of  going  upstairs  he  crawled  behind  the 
crypt  that  held  the  bones  of  our  greatest  naval  hero.. 

Reggie  was  panting  and  somewhat  exhausted  after  the 
race.  But  his  customary  fear  in  such  flights  had  left 
him  entirely.  Instead,  he  remarked  out  loud  to  him- 
self: 

"The  old  beggar,  I  fooled  him  that  time  all  right!" 

Although  no  one  appeared,  Reggie  knew  he  could  not 
venture  out  again  for  some  time.  No  doubt  the  watch- 
man thought  he  had  escaped  over  the  wall  into  town. 
But  that  would  not  prevent  him  from  spreading  the 
alarm  and  setting  others  to  search  all  possible  hiding 
places. 

In  the  security  of  his  position,  Reggie's  thoughts 
drifted  back  to  the  original  difficulty.  Why  had  Tom 
and  Ole  taken  him  here?  No  doubt  it  was  some  form 
of  punishment  for  what  he  had  said  about  Tom's  pre- 
vious life. 


THE  DISASTER  49 

And,  by  the  way,  what  right  had  he  to  criticize? 
Wasn't  he  the  same  Reggie  Van  Brunt  who  was  known 
as  a  coward  by  the  whole  freshman  class  in  a  certain 
university  ? 

As  for  Tom  Poor,  even  though  he  was  a  common 
sailor,  he  had  possessed  the  courage  to  go  out  into  the 
world  alone  and  make  a  living. 

"But  I  did  it,  too,"  Reggie  reminded  himself.  "I 
would  have  got  a  job  the  very  next  morning  if  Dad 
hadn't  stopped  me." 

This  idea  somewhat  dispelled  the  shame  of  the  other 
memory.  Perhaps  if  he,  Reggie,  had  a  chance  he  would 
get  ahead  just  as  fast  as  Tom  or  Ole  or  any  other 
stronger  boy.  He  couldn't  help  being  weak.  He  wasn't 
built  for  fighting.  Then  there  was  this  little  brush  with 
the  watchman.  Hadn't  he  put  it  over  on  the  fellow  by 
sheer  cleverness? 

"Then  why  can't  I  turn  tables  on  those  other  nuts?" 

Reggie  actually  laughed.  If  he  had  only  known  it, 
the  medicine  of  Tom's  practical  joke  was  working  with 
miraculous  rapidity.  At  last  he  was  beginning  to  see 
life  in  terms  of  brains  rather  than  brute  strength. 

Something  white  caught  his  eye. 

He  tiptoed  around  to  the  other  side  of  the  crypt  and 
found  a  cardboard  placard  propped  up  against  the  door. 
Turning  it  over  he  could  make  out  large  lettering  illeg- 
ible in  the  faint  light. 

He  took  the  placard  to  the  door  which  was  still  open 
a  crack  and  read : 

LEAVE  YOUR 
CAPS  HERE 

The  card  had  been  used  in  the  recent  crowded  grad- 


So  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET, 

uation  week  when  several  classes  had  reunions.  Uni- 
form caps  were  on  these  occasions  always  difficult  to 
retain.  The  thousands  of  them  were  so  absolutely 
identical. 

Reggie's  imagination  was  still  hard  at  work.  He  had 
also  reached  a  state  of  self-confidence  wherein  he  felt 
nearly  able  to  cope  with  even  such  bullies  as  Tom  and 
Ole. 

Suddenly  he  ejaculated  "Wow,"  And  again  he  ex- 
claimed with  perilous  loudness:  "WOW!" 

Deliberately  he  closed  the  door.  He  returned  to  the 
scene  of  his  imprisonment.  From  the  hole  in  which  he 
had  lain  he  fished  out  several  old  nails.  With  the  help 
of  these  he  fastened  the  sign  to  the  under  side  of  the 
board  cover.  Then,  drawing  the  knife  from  his  pocket 
and  opening  it,  he  began  to  scrape  at  one  of  the  letters. 

About  six  hours  after  this,  the  long  corridors  of  Ban- 
croft Hall  echoed  with  the  strident  notes  of  the  bugle. 
Twice  the  call  to  rooms  was  sounded  accompanied  by  a 
great  'confusion  and  running  about. 

"Clear  the  deck  and  stand  by  for  inspection !"  shouted 
the  midshipmen-in-charge  of  floors. 

In  five  minutes  all  was  quiet. 

"Quarters  ready  for  inspection,"  announced  the  Officer- 
in-Charge. 

"Very  good,  sir,"  replied  Admiral  Lacy.  And  turn- 
ing to  the  Senator.  "Come,"  he  said  "and  I  will  show 
you  what  discipline  can  be,." 

At  each  study  door  stood  a  midshipman  at  attention 
in  full  dress  uniform.  Inside  was  his  roommate  whose 
turn  it  was  to  be  responsible  for  the  appearance  of  the 
room  for  the  ensuing  week.  In  the  center  of  the  study 
stood  a  plain  deal  table  and  two  chairs.  By  each  wall 


THE  'DISASTER  51 

was  a  three-story  book  case,  likewise  of  the  simplest  con- 
struction. Books  were  arranged  with  microscopic  at- 
tention to  size. 

In  each  small  bedroom  on  either  side  were  a  small 
white  iron  bedstead,  a  locker,  and  a  metal  washstand. 
By  the  bed  was  a  tiny  piece  of  carpet,  the  only  floor  cover- 
ing in  the  whole  room,.  Under  the  bed  were  two  pairs 
of  shoes  polished  till  they  glistened. 

Not  a  speck  of  dust  in  sight.  Not  a  piece  of  furni- 
ture or  a  book,  or  a  windowshade  the  fraction  of  an 
inch  out  of  alignment.  Even  the  clothing  in  the  locker 
was  arranged  according  to  size  and  kind. 

"They  do  it  themselves,"  said  the  Commandant 
proudly. 

"Chambermaids  are  scarce  these  days,"  dryly  com- 
mented the  Senator.  "May  I  ask  why  such  austerity  of 
existence  is  necessary  for  these  young  men?" 

The  midshipman  by  the  door  bestowed  a  pleased  wink 
upon  his  roommate. 

"Certainly,"  returned  the  Admiral.  "Some  day  these 
lads  will  be  officers.  Their  duty  will  be  to  keep  our 
naval  vessels  in  the  same  condition  of  irreproachable 
cleanliness  as  they  now  keep  their  rooms.  Such  a  state 
aboard  a  man-of-war  makes  for  contentment  of  the 
crews  as  well  as  economical  upkeep  of  the  whole  ord- 
nance and  engine  installation." 

To  the  Admiral's  disappointment,  Senator  Brame 
seemed  to  have  missed  the  full  weight  of  this  impressive 
speech.  He  was  scrutinizing  one  of  the  lockers,  ap- 
parently overcome  by  its  almost  superhuman  tidiness. 

Suddenly  he  turned  and  with  a  look  of  great  stern- 
ness addressed  the  Admiral. 

"Cleanliness   is    next    to    Godliness,"    he   pronounced 


S2  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

solemnly.  "But  even  Godliness  has  been  known  to  wane 
in  the  face  of  insufficient  nourishment." 

"My  dear  sir,"  hastily  interposed  the  Admiral,  "just 
wait  till  you  see  the  magnificence  of  our  kitchens." 

Senator  Brame  hereupon  placed  his  hand  under  a  pair 
of  beautifully  pressed  and  folded  white  trousers  and 
drew  it  out. 

"I  don't  need  to,"  he  said,  and  handed  the  Admiral  a 
thick,  rich,  and  juicy  cherry  pie! 

"Put  Midshipman  Jones  on  the  report  for  'food  in 
room!'"  was  the  Admiral's  icy  comment. 

The  inspection  party  passed  grimly  out. 

By  the  time  parade  call  was  sounded  the  Commandant 
had  regained  his  composure.  He  led  the  Senator  to  a 
point  of  vantage  on  the  terrace.  To  the  east  lay  the 
grassy  drill  and  athletic  field.  Beyond  for  ten  clean 
blue  miles  spread  the  broad  waters  of  Chesapeake  Bay. 

"Can  you  imagine  a  more  beautiful  environment  for 
the  education  of  a  boy?"  he  asked,. 

"For  once  I  agree  with  you,  Admiral,"  was  the  banter- 
ing reply.  "Your  task  as  I  see  it  is  not  only  to  teach 
these  young  men  to  shoot  guns  and  operate  engines. 
More  important  almost  is  to  convince  them  that  a  naval 
career  is  the  finest  in  the  world;  to  breed  in  them  a  love 
of  the  sea.  I  cannot  imagine  a  happier  situation  for 
such  a  school." 

By  this  time  the  hundreds  of  future  naval  officers  were 
flooding  from  the  various  doors  of  the  quarters.  As  if 
by  magic  they  fell  into  two  long  parallel  lines. 

"Makes  soldiers  out  of  them,  too,"  muttered  the  Sen- 
ator. 

The  Admiral  laughed.  "It's  all  in  the  day's  work," 
he  suggested.  "In  the  Navy  we've  got  to  be  prepared  to 


THE  DISASTER  53 

fight  ashore  as  well  as  afloat.  Our  lines  of  activity  com- 
bine those  of  nearly  every  technical  profession  known." 

As  the  roll  call  began  with  a  loud  clattering  of  names 
Senator  Brame  was  reminded  of  the  cause  for  his  visit. 

"Anything  of  my  young  friend  yet?"  he  inquired. 

The  Admiral  sent  his  orderly  to  investigate.  Lieuten- 
ant Commander  Kilduff  himself  came  to  report. 

"My  scouts  say  they  have  covered  every  district  in 
Annapolis  without  finding  a  single  trace  of  Midshipman 
Van  Brunt.  It's  very  strange,  sir." 

The  Admiral  nodded  slowly.  With  growing  satisfac- 
tion he  felt  the  value  of  proving  to  the  distinguished 
visitor  that  even  the  boys  of  most  refined  families,  with1 
the  best  previous  breeding  and  education,  may  go  astray. 

"One  thing  more,  sir,"  continued  the  Officer-in-Charge. 
"I  forgot  to  say  that  main  gate  watchman  reports  he 
chased  a  midshipman  over  the  wall  behind  the  chapel 
about  three  o'clock  this  morning.  He  believes  the  fellow 
tallied  with  the  description  of  Van  Brunt." 

At  last  the  Senator  seemed  inclined  to  weaken.  "Well, 
'boys  will  be  boys,'  "  he  quoted.  "It's  an  old  adage,  but 
a  very  true  one.  And  there's  no  accounting  for  it." 

With  great  pride  the  Admiral  led  the  way  down  the 
stiff  ranks.  Now  and  then  he  stopped  to  examine  a 
boy's  cap  or  uniform  more  closely.  Very  occasionally 
he  asked  one  his  name. 

Opposite  Tom  he  stopped  for  a  full  minute.  In  his 
mind  he  said :  "Here's  a  fine  looking  young  man.  I'll 
have  to  keep  my  eye  on  him.  Some  day  he'll  make  me 
a  good  flag  lieutenant." 

Tom  returned  the  Admiral's  gaze  without  flinching. 
In  his  mind  he  imagined  the  Admiral  was  saying: 

"Here's  a  guilty-looking  young  cuss.     Wonder  what 


54  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

he's  been  up  to.  His  eyes  show  he  needs  sleep.  That 
means  he's  been  up  all  night.  Probably  he  can  tell  me 
where  that  Van  Brunt  is  we've  been  passing  the  word 
for  all  morning!" 

The  Admiral  passed  on. 

Inspection  done,  bugles  sounded  again  and  rank  broke 
up  into  squads.  With  mechanical  precision  the  whole  six 
hundred  stepped  off  together  in  time  to  the  music. 

"Fine  sight,  fine  sight  indeed!"  exclaimed  the  Senator 
much  moved  by  the  spectacle. 

"Inspiring  it  is,"  agreed  the  Admiral.  "So  many 
young  men,  healthy  and  strong,  with  all  their  future 
ahead  of  them."  His  eyes  blinked  with  emotion.  "It 
glorifies  the  duty  of  us  who  guide  them!" 

The  Senator  recovered  first.  "Don't  forget  the  sheep 
that's  out,"  he  laughed. 

As  the  marching  columns  approached  the  chapel  en- 
trance, a  crowd  of  visitors  parted  to  let  them  through. 

"Aren't  they  handsome!"  came  the  shrill  voice  of  a 
girl 

"So  highminded,"  whispered  a  mother  to  the  father 
of  a  fat  plebe  in  one  of  the  rear  ranks. 

"Possibly,"  returned  the  father  in  a  dubious  tone. 

The  central  pews  were  quickly  filled  by  the  battalion. 
With  quiet  efficiency  the  long  rows  were  occupied.  Each 
midshipman  sat  erect  and  stiff  as  if  a  ramrod  had  been 
poked  up  his  back  before  leaving  quarters.  The  com- 
bined solemnity  fixed  upon  the  six  hundred  young  faces 
would  have  made  a  graveyard  seem  jovial  by  compari- 
son. 

A  few  minutes  were  occupied  by  the  entrance  of  the 
visitors.  At  the  rustling  of  gowns  and  hushed  feminine 
voices  a  slight  tremor  seemed  to  pass  along  the  flat  broad 


THE  DISASTER  55 

uniformed  shoulders.  But  the  discipline  was  perfect. 
Not  a  single  one  of  those  close-clipped  heads  turned  the 
hundredth  part  of  an  inch. 

When  the  Commandant  and  Senator  Brame  had  taken 
their  seats  at  the  front  and  center  there  was  a  moment 
of  dead  silence.  The  Cadet  Adjutant  Gill  marched 
grandly  up  the  aisle.  Under  his  arm  he  carried  the  Navy 
Regulations. 

At  the  top  of  the  steps  leading  to  the  chancel  he  came 
to  a  halt  and  smartly  faced  about. 

Immediately  he  found  his  place  and  in  a  clear  carry- 
ing voice  began  to  read: 

"  'The  Navy  of  the  United  States  shall  be  governed 
by  the  following  articles/'1 

Imperceptibly  six  hundred  bodies  between  the  ages  of 
sixteen  and  twenty-one  settled  themselves  for  the  ordeal. 

"  'The  Commanders  of  all  fleets,  squadrons,  naval  sta- 
tions. 

To  the  great  joy  and  entertainment  of  six  hundred 
pairs  of  watchful  eyes  a  fly  lit  upon  Admiral  Lacy's 
bald  spot. 

"  'Or  strikes  or  assaults,  or  attempts  or  threat- 
ens. 

The  Admiral  struck  and  assaulted  the  fly.  In  so  do- 
ing he  jolted  unpleasantly  the  Senator  next  to  him  who 
was  just  dropping  into  a  peaceful  doze. 

The  aroused  Senator  drew  himself  upright  and  looked 
about.  By  turning  half  around  he  could  see  the  row 
upon  row  of  set  bored  faces  behind.  One  boy  he 
thought  he  recognized.  He  looked  like — 

The  Senator  closed  his  eyes  and  opened  them  again. 
The  countenance  he  was  studying  had  suddenly  taken 
on  a  look  of  horror  and  amazement.  The  eyes  pro- 


56  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

truded.  The  jaw  dropped;  and  by  the  nostrils'  quick 
movement  he  knew  the  boy  was  panting. 

Instantly  the  Senator  turned  to  warn  the  Admiral  that 
one  of  his  midshipmen  was  on  the  point  of  having  a  fit  of 
some  sort.  Better  get  him  out  before  a  disturbance  was 
created. 

To  his  astonishment  he  found  the  same  wild  look  had 
seized  upon  the  Admiral.  Evidently  he  too  was  in  the 
throes  of  some  terrific  internal  emotion. 

Senator  Brame  followed  his  gaze.  And  his  face  fol- 
lowed suit. 

Just  behind  the  Cadet  Adjutant  near  the  chancel  a 
square  board  had  been  raised  by  some  invisible  agency. 
On  the  board  had  been  nailed  a  large  white  placard  on 
which  in  tall  black  letters  was  the  remarkable  inscrip- 
tion: 

LEAVE  YOUR 
CATS  HERE 

Intense  silence  held  the  stupefied  assemblage. 

Then  slowly,  gruesomely,  there  rose  before  the  pla- 
card a  dreadful  sight.  It  was  the  tall  figure  of  a  man. 
He  was  dirty  and  dishevelled.  A  cruel  gag  filled  the 
space  where  his  mguth  should  have  been.  A  blindfold 
blotted  out  the  eyes.  His  wrists  and  body  were  twined 
with  torturing  knots  that  would  have  gratified  a  hang- 
man. 

The  apparition  came  to  its  full  height,  then  emitted 
a  long  and  heart-rending  groan. 

A  woman  in  the  rear  screamed  and  fainted  and  had  to 
be  carried  out.  It  was  the  mother  of  Audrey  Melville 
Johnson. 

The   apparition   disappeared    behind    the   organ    sup- 


THE  DISASTER  57 

ported  on  the  shoulders  of  two  choking  members  of  the 
choir. 

But  not  before  the  Senator  had  recognized  Reginald 
D.  Van  Brunt! 


CHAPTER  VI 

COURT-MARTIAL 

TOM  enjoyed  exactly  twenty-four  hours  of  sweet  sat- 
isfaction in  the  glorious  success  of  his  deed  before  the 
blow  fell. 

During  Sunday  lunch  excitement  ran  high.  Naturally 
the  first  flush  of  public  sentiment  favored  Reggie. 

"Oh,  you  old  cat!"  his  twenty-one  table  mates  as- 
sailed him,. 

Reggie  bestowed  a  superior  grin  upon  the  crowd. 

"Hey,  John  Paul  Jones,  how  does  it  feel  to  be  buried 
two  hundred  years?"  inquired  one  wit. 

"Hot  stuff,  boy,"  retorted  Reggie. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  mess  hall  midshipmen  craned 
their  necks  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  hero.  And  hero 
Reggie  was,  strange  as  it  may  seem.  Consensus  of  opin- 
ion agreed  that  only  considerable  presence  of  mind  on 
his  part  as  well  as  a  good  deal  of  downright  nerve  could 
have  made  it  possible  to  work  the  chapel  stunt  with  such 
huge  success. 

Secretly  Tom  and  Ole  agreed.  They  had  never 
dreamed  their  plot  could  have  been  carried  out  so  mag- 
nificently. 

"The  only  thing  that  worries  me  is  that  fool  sign," 
said  Tom.  But  the  less  imaginative  Ole  merely  took 
this  phenomenon  as  a  contribution  by  Providence. 
"Should  have  thought  of  it  ourselves,"  he  growled. 

58 


COURT-MARTIAL  59 

As  for  Reggie  his  self-respect  had  been  swelling  like 
a  balloon  ever  since  that  thrilling  moment  when  he  found 
he  could  outspeed  the  watchman.  That  he  now  had  out- 
speeded  two  bullies  like  Tom  Poor  and  Ole  Hansen  he 
took  almost  as  a  matter  of  course. 

During  the  afternoon,  the  midshipmen  on  sailing 
parties  and  cross-country  walks  discussed  the  great  sen- 
sation from  beginning  to  end. 

"What'll  the  Supe  do  about  it?"  was  the  question 
sooner  or  later  everyone  asked  everyone  else.  The 
Superintendent  was  absent;  and  the  Commandant,  Ad- 
miral Lacy,  had  not  yet  been  able  to  impose  any  extreme 
fear  upon  the  battalion. 

"Find  out  who  pulled  the  stunt,  of  course." 

"But  how  can  he?" 

"Easy  enough." 

"Sherlock  Holmes  stuff,  I  suppose." 

"Not  at  all.  Simply  seek  the  motive."  Not  without 
results  had  the  speaker  stayed  up  half  the  night  over  a 
harrowing  detective  story. 

"Say,  you're  some  little  sleuth,  now  ain't  you?" 

"Not  at  all.  Who  do  you  think  had  it  in  for  Reggie 
Van  Brunt?  Why  that  gink,  Tom  Poor,  of  course. 
Poor  wanted  to  beat  him  up ;  but  the  gang  wouldn't  stand 
for  it.  So  he  got  even  by  making  a  fool  out  of  Reg- 
gie." 

Thus  it  was  that  by  supper-time  the  fickle  admiration 
of  nearly  six  hundred  youthful  detectives  abandoned 
Reggie  for  Tom  Poor.  They  realized  that  beyond  a 
shadow  of  a  doubt  Tom  Poor's  was  the  master  mind  be- 
hind the  whole  circus. 

Desperately  Reggie  sought  to  retain  his  midday  pres- 
tige. 


6o  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"Any  cats  to  dispose  of?"  he  facetiously  inquired  of 
several  of  his  recent  most  ardent  admirers. 

But  it  was  of  no  use.  All  eyes  were  on  Tom.  All 
minds  were  hard  at  work  picturing  the  tremendous 
physical  strength  and  the  super-intelligence  required  to 
kidnap  a  live  man,  then  to  arrange  a  trap  that  would 
spring  with  such  divine  consequences  at  the  exact  mo- 
ment it  would  be  most  effective. 

Tom  took  this  hero-worship  as  a  matter  of  course. 
He  had  been  a  public  character  before. 

For  the  same  reason  he  was  amazed  to  see  Reggie's 
pride  in  having  been  the  victim.  In  fact  he  called  Ole's 
attention  to  it  as  they  drifted  up  to  Recreation  Hall 
after  lunch. 

"Anybody  would  think  he  had  planned  the  thing  him- 
self," he  said. 

At  that  minute  Reggie  hove  in  sight.  To  the  kidnap- 
pers' profound  astonishment  he  favored  them  with  a 
condescending  bow. 

"Well,  I'll  be  jiggered!"  gasped  Tom. 

After  supper  the  situation  was  reversed.  Reggie  had 
regained  something  of  his  former  uneasy  manner. 
Truth  was  that  the  attention  which  had  bolstered  him 
up  earlier  in  the  day  was  now  entirely  diverted  to  Ole 
and  Tom. 

These  two  took  pains  to  seek  him  out  just  before  the 
evening  call  to  rooms.  Some  maneuvering  was  neces- 
sary to  avoid  making  a  public  spectacle  of  the  encounter. 

"Say,  Van  Brunt,"  said  Tom  menacingly,  "maybe  you 
might  explain  who  was  responsible  for  that  sign." 

Reggie  glanced  over  his  shoulder.  A  group  of  mid- 
shipmen stood  reassuringly  near. 


COURT-MARTIAL  61 

"Maybe  I  might,  and  maybe  I  mightn't,"  was  the  dar-» 
ing  reply. 

Before  Ole  could  stop  him  Tom  had  swung  out  with 
all  his  force.  Reggie  was  half  prepared  for  the  attack 
and  ducked.  But  his  unpractised  eye  was  too  slow. 
The  blow  missed  his  chin  but  caught  him  with  a  thud 
on  his  right  shoulder.  He  spun  and  fell  sprawling  to 
the  floor. 

"You  fool!"  cried  Ole.  "I'm  done  with  you,  Tom 
Poor!" 

Whereupon  Reggie,  who  by  this  time  had  rolled  un- 
hurt to  a  sitting  position  and  saw  the  gathering  crowd, 
seized  the  opportunity  to  make  the  only  defense  he  knew 
how.  His  eyes  narrow  with  hatred,  he  hissed: 

"I'll  get  you,  you  thug!     You  watch!" 

And  he  did. 

It  was  next  morning.  The  fourth  class  had  been  out 
in  the  sub-chasers  for  tactical  and  signal  drill.  Sixteen 
of  these  small  gasoline-driven  craft  were  organized  into 
regular  battleship  divisions.  Midshipmen  formed  their 
crews.  From  bridge  to  bridge  semaphore  signals  were 
flashed  back  and  forth,. 

Having  been  a  signal  boy  himself,  Tom  instinctively 
caught  many  of  the  silly  sentences  that  were  spelled  out 
by  the  bits  of  fluttering  colored  bunting.  The  message 
that  passed  most  frequently  made  him  dig  his  finger 
nails  into  the  palms  of  his  hands.  It  was : 

"L-E-A-V-E  Y-O-U-R  C-A-T-S  H-E-R-EP 

"Children!"  he  sneered. 

As  Reggie  had  not  yet  mastered  the  code,  he  missed 
this  particular  part  of  the  morning's  exercises.  He  had 
his  medicine  though.  At  least  two  hundred  times  the 


62  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

sub-chaser  to  which  he  was  attached  received  the  mean- 
ingless inquiries: 

"How  is  the  old  cat?"  or  "Does  she  smell  yet?"  All 
of  which  were  repeated  with  emphasis  to  the  irritated 
Reggie. 

Scarcely  had  the  boats  tied  up  to  the  sea-wall  at  ten- 
thirty,  when  a  duty  midshipman  appeared  bearing  a  slip 
of  paper  and  a  megaphone.  With  impressive  loudness 
he  announced: 

"All  the  fourth  class  report  to  Mahan  Hall  after 
drill." 

This  word  was  greeted  by  a  chorus  of  cheers. 

"Old  Man's  on  the  warpath  again!"  shouted  one. 

"He  ought  to  be,"  growled  the  Lieutenant  in  charge 
of  the  drill,  "after  yesterday's  performance." 

Tom  overheard  this  remark  and  caught  the  sinister  tone 
of  the  speaker.  A  vague  apprehension  came  over  him. 
Could  it  be  possible  that  a  snob  and  a  weakling  like  Reg- 
gie Van  Brunt  might  triumph  over  a  man  that  played  as 
square  as  Tom  felt  he  had  played? 

The  midshipmen  nearly  filled  the  large  auditorium  in 
the  Academic  Building,  or  Mahan  Hall  as  it  was  known. 
After  a  noisy  roll  call,  the  Commandant's  Aide  ordered 
silence. 

On  the  stage  sat  the  officers,  about  forty  in  all,  who 
were  being  retained  for  the  summer  in  connection  with 
the  new  class.  All  other  officers  had  gone  to  sea  on  the 
ships  of  the  practice  squadron  for  the  annual  midship- 
men's cruise. 

As  the  whispering  died  away,  Admiral  Lacy  advanced 
to  the  front  of  the  stage. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  began  in  his  best  deep-sea  voice,  "I 


COURT-MARTIAL  63 

have  brought  you  here  for  a  serious  purpose.  My  theme 
will  be  evident  when  I  request  that  Midshipman  Van 
Brunt  join  me  up  on  the  stage." 

He  paused  while  Reggie,  invisibly  assisted  by  those 
who  sat  on  either  side  of  him,  extricated  himself  from 
a  back  row  and  awkwardly  climbed  over  the  footlights. 

"The  presence  of  Mr.  Van  Brunt  before  you,"  con- 
tinued the  Admiral,  "will  refresh  your  memories  in  re- 
gard to  the  sacrilege  which  profaned  our  chapel  yester- 
day morning." 

"Get  the  dictionary!"  came  a  hoarse  but  audible  whis- 
per from  one  side.  A  suppressed  titter  ran  across  the 
hall. 

The  old  sea-dog  took  one  stride  nearer  his  audience. 
"Silence!"  he  roared.  "Gentlemen,  stand  up!" 

This  time  the  vibrant  command  had  its  full  effect. 
Instantly  and  with  a  minimum  of  commotion  the  six- 
hundred  boys  rose  to  attention. 

With  his  feet  braced  wide,  his  jaw  protruding,  and 
fists  clenched  in  two  muscular  knots,  the  Admiral  then 
gave  the  newcomers  their  first  taste  of  a  "salt-air 
tongue." 

For  a  good  five  minutes  the  walls  resounded  with  the 
short  sure  sentences  that  sprang  from  the  Admiral's 
powerful  lungs.  From  nearly  the  very  first  word  he 
made  each  single  boy  feel  guilty  of  disrespect  to  higher 
authority. 

"And  some  day,"  he  concluded  with  rasping  slow- 
ness, "you  will  remember  what  I  say;  you  will  use  my 
very  words ;  and  you  will  thank  me  for  having  taught  you 
while  you  were  young!" 

For   a   moment   one  could   have   heard   a   pin   drop. 


64  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

Then,  "Seats,"  ordered  the  Admiral  quietly.  Obedi- 
ence was  prompt  and  quiet.  After  forty  years  of  prac- 
tice it  was  no  great  task  for  him  to  handle  men. 

"Now  we  come  to  the  chief  business  of  the  day,"  he 
next  announced.  "But  before  we  begin  let  me  say  that 
till  this  moment  I  have  made  no  inquiry,  no  investigation. 
Except  that  this  young  gentleman  appeared  yesterday 
at  a  most  solemn  moment  in  a  most  disgraceful  condi- 
tion, I  know  no  more  than  you  do."  For  an  instant  his 
eyes  twinkled.  "Probably  not  as  much,"  he  added. 

He  beckoned  to  Reggie.  The  latter  stood  at  attention 
before  him.  Admiral  Lacy  looked  him  up  and  down; 
took  in  the  delicately  cut  nose  and  mouth,  the  brown  eyes, 
the  slender  figure  and  tall  ungainly  legs. 

"I  thought  so,"  he  said  at  last.  "You're  the  pestifer- 
ous kind  the  big  fellows  can't  punish  by  rough  methods. 
So  they  took  it  out  by  trying  to  make  a  fool  of  you." 

He  turned  to  the  audience.  "Gentlemen,  I  can  read 
the  six  hundred  of  you  as  plainly  as  you  read  that  pla- 
card in  the  chapel.  And  what  I  read  is  almost  as  amus- 
ing. This  lad,  I  take  it,  has  got  himself  disliked.  You 
have  sought  to  punish  him.  .  .  ,.  You  haven't  given 
him  a  chance." 

He  paused  to  let  his  words  sink  in.  He  knew  this 
was  the  hardest  point  of  all  to  make.  Well  he  realized 
there  are  times  when  no  man  deserves  a  chance. 

"One  year  from  today,"  he  continued,  "you — whoever 
was  responsible  for  the  trick — would  have  had  no  cause 
for  what  you  did.  Van  Brunt's  muscles  would  have 
caught  up  with  his  frame  and  his  age,.  His  heart  would 
have  overtaken  his  muscles.  His  digestion  and  nerves 
would  have  been  there  to  back  them  all  up.  And  he 


COURT-MARTIAL  65 

would  have  played  the  man  with  you  instead  of  having 
to  be  treated  like  a  child." 

To  the  Admiral's  intense  satisfaction  he  saw  a  general 
expression  of  approval  come  over  the  faces  before  him. 

He  cleared  his  throat.  His  next  move  he  hated.  But 
his  position  forced  him  to  uphold  the  law  by  legal  means. 

"So  far  I  have  been  personal,"  he  put  it.  "Now  I 
shall  be  official.  Public  desecration  of  divine  service  is 
punishable  by  severe  measures.  Furthermore,  it  can 
cause  a  deep  and  lasting  injury  to  the  school  of  which 
you  all  sooner  or  later  will  become  very  fond/' 

He  turned  to  Reggie.  "It  is  my  duty,  Mister  Van 
Brunt,  to  investigate  the  breach  of  discipline  of  which 
I  take  it  you  were  the  unwilling  victim.  I  intend  to 
make  this  investigation  here  this  morning.  Further  I 
intend  to  punish  the  guilty  ones  to  the  fullest  letter  of 
the  law — "  he  stopped  and  looked  over  the  spread  of 
upturned  faces — "if  I  fired  out  who  they  are." 

There  was  no  mistaking  his  meaning.  The  Admiral 
had  thought  the  difficulty  out  through  a  long  and  sleep- 
less night.  And  he  had  concluded  that  as  it  was  the 
first  serious  offense  in  the  life  of  an  entirely  inexperi- 
enced and  undisciplined  body  of  young  men,  he  would  be 
safe  in  letting  them  off  with  a  warning. 

"The  Old  Brick!"  burst  one  middy  involuntarily. 

The  Admiral  turned  to  Reggie  with  a  kindly  and  ex- 
pectant smile.  He  thought  he  knew  his  boys  pretty 
well.  Now  for  the  finishing  touch  to  prove  that,  after 
all,  this  one  before  him  would  be  a  man  when  he  had 
half  a  chance. 

"And  now  Mister  Van  Brunt,  will  you  tell  me  who 
they  were?" 


66  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

He  could  almost  hear  Reggie  reply  bravely: 

"Why  no,  sir,  I'm  afraid  I  can't." 

Instead,  his  words  were  met  by  a  cold  and  withering 
look.  Reggie  then  turned  and  fixed  his  eyes  upon  one 
of  the  side  aisles.  Slowly  his  arm  came  up.  His  long 
finger  stretched  accusingly  at  the  man  he  was  determined 
to  revenge  himself  upon. 

"There's  the  one  that  did  it,"  he  said.     "Tom  Poor!" 

The  Admiral  stepped  back  astonished.  A  series  of 
gasps  could  be  heard  over  the  audience.  Then  some- 
one hissed.  As  if  by  command  the  whole  assembly  took 
it  up. 

The  Admiral  held  up  his  hand  for  silence. 

"Is  it  so,  Mister  Poor?" 

Tom  rose.  His  face  was  white  with  anger.  For  a 
moment  he  could  not  speak,.  Then,  with  an  effort,  he 
regained  his  self-control. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  am  the  man,"'  he  replied. 

For  at  least  a  minute  the  Admiral  appeared  non- 
plussed. Could  it  be  possible  that  the  standard  of  young 
men  had  so  changed  in  recent  years  that  they  dared  be- 
tray one  another  at  the  slightest  provocation?  At  any 
rate  the  others  were  certainly  not  in  sympathy  with  Van 
Brunt. 

He  turned  to  the  Officer-in-Charge. 

"Put  Mister  Poor  under  arrest  at  once,"  he  com- 
manded. "I  will  appoint  a  board  of  investigation  this 
afternoon." 

A  few  hours  later  Tom  faced  the  court  with  a  feeling 
of  utter  hopelessness. 

"Do  you  expect  to  plead  guilty?"  asked  the  senior 
officer. 

"Guilty?"  Tom  repeated  vaguely.     He  looked  around 


COURT-MARTIAL  67 

the  room  at  the  stern  faces.  "Why  yes — of  course," 
he  said. 

"And  you  understand  what  the  charges  are  going  to 
be?" 

One  of  the  younger  officers  stood  up.  "I  object,  sir," 
he  said  firmly.  "This  young  man  need  say  nothing  that 
will  incriminate  himself." 

"Quite  true,"  countered  the  other.  "But  since  he  has 
already  admitted  having  bound  up  the  midshipman  who 
appeared  in  chapel,  I  see  no  reason  for  our  not  making 
the  court's  procedure  as  simple  as  possible." 

It  was  all  Greek  to  poor  Tom,  this  legal  argument 
that  went  on  heatedly  about  him.  A  certain  amount  of 
sympathy  the  officers  had  for  him,  he  knew.  His  past 
record  was  splendid.  And  he  had  been  given  to  under- 
stand that  his  powerful  build  bid  fair  to  gain  him  a  place 
on  the  football  team. 

"But  we've  got  to  keep  up  the  good  name  of  the  Naval 
Academy,"  he  heard  one  declare. 

That  seemed  to  be  the  gist  of  it.  He  was  to  be  made 
an  example  before  his  classmates.  He  was  to  be  sacri- 
ficed that  other  midshipmen  would  be  warned  before  it 
was  too  late. 

At  last  the  session  was  brought  to  an  end.  Tom  was 
led  away  under  guard.  Just  as  he  reached  the  door  the 
senior  officer  called  him  back. 

"A  minute,  Poor,"  he  said. 

Tom  turned  to  find  the  others  had  left  by  another 
entrance. 

"I  just  wanted  to  tell  you,  Poor,  that  you  may  as  well 
prepare  for  the  worst.  After  our  trouble  about  hazing 
last  year  the  Superintendent  has  directed  that  the  new 
class  shall  be  put  right  in  the  beginning." 


68  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"Yes,  sir,"  Tom  nodded  sadly. 

"It  looks  as  if  you  had  better  try  to  use  any  influence 
you  may  have  in  Washington." 

Tom  shook  his  head,.  What  influence  had  he — a  run- 
away from  home,  an  enlisted  seaman  in  the  fleet,  a 
miserable  plebe  at  Annapolis? 

"I'm  sorry  then,"  concluded  the  officer.  "You  may 
as  well  make  up  your  mind  that  you  are  to  be  dismissed." 

With  dry  and  burning  eyes  Tom  studied  the  floor 
seams  for  a  moment,  then  turned  and  rejoined  the  private 
of  marines,  his  guard. 


CHAPTER  VII 

FIRE 

ON  the  third  day  of  his  confinement,  Tom  became 
desperate.  The  trial  irked  him  to  madness.  It  was 
dragging  along.  Mostly  because  every  effort  was  being 
made  to  discover  what  midshipmen  were  in  the  plot  be- 
sides Tom. 

"It  took  about  a  dozen  of  us,"  he  gravely  informed 
his  examiners..  Then,  later,  he  was  forced  to  admit  the 
falsity  of  this  statement,  and  declared  he  had  done  the 
trick  singlehanded. 

Now  as  he  sat  in  the  little  bare  room,  with  his  face 
buried  in  his  hands,  the  future  looked  absolutely  black. 
Dismissal  from  the  Naval  Service  meant  that  he  could 
not  reenlist.  And  without  doubt  his  reputation  would  be 
passed  along  to  the  Merchant  Marine. 

"But  I  am  going  to  sea!"  He  clenched  both  fists  and 
pounded  the  wall  in  front.  "I'm  going  to  sea  yet!"  he 
exclaimed  through  clamped  jaws. 

Suddenly  a  wave  of  uncontrollable  anger  swept 
through  him.  He  saw  red  in  reality.  Abruptly  he 
realized  that  the  man  who  had  caused  his  downfall  was 
now  enjoying  the  fullest  liberty,. 

"But  before  I  do  anything  else,"  he  muttered,  "I'm 
going  to  give  Van  Brunt  the  thrashing  of  his  life.  That's 
the  medicine  /  need !" 

Tom  rose  and  tiptoed  to  the  door.  He  could  hear  the 
marine  guard  pacing  slowly  up  and  down  outside. 

69 


70  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

He  opened  the  transom  and  called:  "Hey  you,  out- 
side." 

"What  do  you  want?"  came  the  insolent  response. 

"There's  a  water  pipe  leaking  badly  here,"  said  Tom 
in  the  pleasantest  voice  he  could  muster.  "I  think  you'd 
better  have  a  look  at  it.1* 

The  marine  turned  his  key  in  the  lock  and  stepped  in. 
As  the  door  closed  behind  him  he  was  seized  by  the  collar 
and  jerked  sharply  to  one  side. 

The  same  moment  he  felt  a  stinging  pain  in  his  shins. 
Tom  had  used  a  tripping  trick  he  had  learned  in  some  of 
the  seagoing  riots  he  had  taken  part  in  on  the  Boston 
waterfront. 

As  the  marine  was  both  lighter  and  weaker  than  the 
sturdy  Tom,  it  was  the  work  of  but  a  moment  to  roll 
him  into  the  shower  bath  and  hold  him  by  sitting  on  his 
chest. 

"Now  I'm  going  out  for  a  bit,"  said  Tom  shortly. 
"And  I'm  going  to  tie  you  right  here  under  the  shower. 
If  I  hear  a  sound  of  your  trying  to  get  loose  I'm  going 
to  come  back  and  turn  the  cold  water  on." 

The  threat  did  its  work.     The  marine  nodded  assent. 

On  his  way  out  of  Bancroft  Hall  Tom  boldly  asked 
a  duty  midshipman  where  he  could  find  the  battalion. 

"All  of  them  at  the  Engineering  Building,"  he  was 
informed.  "But  I  thought  you  were  in  jail?" 

"You're  not  paid  to  think,"  replied  Tom  caustically. 

He  made  his  plans  quickly.  Engineering  Building  was 
on  the  other  side  of  Mahan  Hall.  He  could  conceal 
himself  by  the  old  bleachers  near  the  back  entrance. 
This,  he  knew,  was  the  place  Reggie  and  others  were 
accustomed  to  come  for  a  stolen  smoke  after  drill.  Here 


FIRE  71 

he  could  capture  and  destroy  Reggie  at  his  own  free  will. 

Just  as  he  reached  the  crossing  at  Maryland  Avenue 
he  was  accosted  by  a  fat  dressy  lady  accompanied  by  a 
small  boy  in  a  sailor  suit.  He  failed  to  see  them  until 
the  last  moment  because  he  was  mentally  engaged  in  pic- 
turing the  joy  that  would  come  with  getting  his  fingers 
on  Reggie  Van  Brunt's  throat. 

"Oh,  you  nice  looking  boy!"  in  a  feminine  voice 
brought  him  suddenly  out  of  his  murderous  thoughts. 

"Wha-what?"  stammered  Tom,  reddening  more  with 
anger  and  embarrassment. 

"I'm  Mrs.  MacMichael  of  Baltimore,"  explained  the 
lady  with  an  ingratiating  smile.  "And  this  is  little 
Jimmy  MacMichael,.  I  want  him  to  grow  up  and  be  a 
sailor.  Now  couldn't  you  tell  him  something  about  the 
life?" 

At  this  moment  a  marine  sergeant  passed.  "What's 
him,  Ma?"  inquired  Jimmy. 

The  fat  lady  turned  to  Tom.  "He  had  U.  S.  M.  C.  on 
him,"  she  observed.  "Now  wasn't  he  some  kind  of 
soldier?" 

The  exasperated  Tom  tried  to  pass  on.  But  the  pon- 
derous lady  blocked  the  way.  "Do  tell  me  what  those 
letters  stand  for,"  she  entreated. 

"Useless  Sons  Made  Comfortable,  Ma'am,"  said  Tom 
with  dignity. 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  the  lady.  Then  with  a  bow  and 
a  smile  she  drew  a  coin  from  her  bag  and  pressed  it  into 
Tom's  hand.  Before  he  could  protest  she  had  passed  on. 

Tom  gazed  at  the  piece  of  silver  for  a  moment. 
"Tipped,  by  heck!"  he  ejaculated.  Then  a  thought  struck 
him. 


72  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"Hey  there,"  he  hailed  a  negro  mess  attendant  that 
was  on  his  way  to  the  main  gate.  "Want  to  make  a 
quarter  ?" 

"Yessuh,  yessuh.    You  bet,  suh!" 

"Well,  here  it  is.  Now  when  you  see  the  midshipmen 
come  out  of  the  Engineering  Building — that  big  white 
one  over  there — you  come  over  and  let  me  know.  I'll 
be  under  this  end  of  the  bleachers." 

Inside  the  building  Tom  had  set  his  spy  upon  was 
being  held  the  routine  summer  instruction  of  the  new 
midshipmen.  They  were  detailed  into  groups  of  about 
thirty.  Each  group  was  in  charge  of  an  officer. 

The  first  floor  of  the  building  was  arranged  for 
practical  demonstration.  One  large  room  was  filled  with 
row  after  row  of  lathes.  About  the  walls  stood  carpen- 
ter benches,  each  fitted  with  sets  of  beautiful  tools. 

Another  spacious  room  was  given  over  to  machine 
tools  of  all  sorts.  Through  great  sliding  doors  was  the 
boiler-making  shop.  And  beyond  that  was  the  foundry 
with  a  real  blast  furnace,  moulds,  and  anvils. 

Thus,  by  actual  work  with  his  own  hands,  is  the  mid- 
shipman taught  the  fundamentals  of  his  many-sided 
profession. 

The  room  in  which  Reggie's  group  were  gathered  was 
most  interesting  of  all.  In  it  were  hundreds  of  engines : 
large  engines;  small  engines;  ship  engines;  launch  en- 
gines; aeroplane  engines;  every  kind  of  engine  Reggie 
had  ever  heard  or  dreamed  of.  And  Reggie's  past  series 
of  motor  cars  had  brought  him  into  what  he  had  con- 
sidered a  really  unusual  intimacy  with  engines  operated 
by  gasoline. 

He  discovered  his  mistake  when  Lieutenant  Ruggles 


FIRE  73 

began  to  describe  the  action  of  a  simple  little  two-cylinder 
affair. 

"Gentlemen,  we  have  here  the  four-cycle,  compound 
exhaust,  overhead  valve  type  of  low-pressure  gas  en- 
gine." 

"Gosh!"  exclaimed  Reggie.  "As  many  names  as  an 
English  duke." 

At  this  remark  the  midshipman  nearest  Reggie  looked 
up  for  a  moment  without  the  sign  of  a  smile.  Then  he 
edged  slightly  away. 

"The  internal  stresses,"  went  on  the  officer,  "are 
balanced  by  a  series  of  dynamic  moments." 

Reggie  missed  this.  He  was  interested  in  the  midship- 
man's peculiar  effort  to  be  unfriendly. 

"A  moment,  gentlemen,"  from  Lieutenant  Ruggles, 
"and  I  will  get  hold  of  some  gas  for  an  actual  demonstra- 
tion." 

During  his  absence  Reggie  attempted  to  engage  several 
of  his  fellows  in  conversation.  To  his  surprise  not  one 
would  listen  or  reply.  And  in  each  case  the  one  ad- 
dressed turned  his  back  upon  the  speaker. 

Finally,  one  came  forward.  "Van  Brunt,"  he  pro- 
claimed icily,  "the  class  met  last  night  and  put  you  into 
Coventry." 

"Into  what?"  Reggie  inquired  curiously. 

"Into  Coventry.  Means  we  intend  to  have  nothing 
further  to  do  with  you.  No  one  will  ever  speak  to  you 
again.  Maybe  now  you  understand  what  we  think  of  a 
man  who'd  squeal  as  you  did !" 

Before  Reggie  could  reply  Lieutenant  Ruggles  had  re- 
turned. "No  gas,"  he  announced.  "Besides  the  hour's 
up,  so  we  shall  have  to  go.  The  schedule  has  been 


74  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

changed  this  morning.  We  are  to  have  squadron  drill 
in  the  boats  at  once  instead  of  this  afternoon." 

While  the  squads  were  forming  Reggie  tried  to  figure 
out  this  latest  unhappiness  in  his  life.  He  had 
"squealed"  on  Tom  Poor  simply  because  he  felt  his  feud 
with  Tom  was  entirely  between  the  two  of  them.  He 
had  never  considered  the  ethics  of  the  contest.  All  his 
life  he  had  done  absolutely  as  his  own  conscience  had  dic- 
tated. 

Now,  suddenly,  he  discovered  that  he  and  Tom  were 
being  refereed.  The  whole  new  class  stood  together  to 
see  that  the  fight  went  on  exactly  as  they  wanted  it  to. 
First  they  wouldn't  let  Tom  attack  Reggie  with  his  fists. 
And  now  they  were  combined  against  him,  Reggie,  be- 
cause he  had  been  clever  enough  to  have  Tom  put  under 
arrest  by  giving  his  name  to  the  Admiral. 

It  was  all  very  confusing  to  Reggie.  At  none  of  the 
schools  he  had  attended  had  he  been  forced  to  put  up 
with  this  sort  of  business.  The  fact  that  he  was  Reggie 
Van  Brunt,  son  of  the  multi-millionaire,  was  sufficient 
to  give  him  all  the  privileges  necessary  to  a  free  and  easy 
life. 

"It's  none  of  their  blasted  business,"  Reggie  told 
himself.  "And  if  they  think  I  care  whether  this  lot  of 
muckers  ever  speak  to  me  again  they're  very  much  mis- 
taken!" 

As  Lieutenant  Ruggles  swung  the  column  into  fours 
he  spied  Tom. 

"Why  hello,  Poor!"  he  sung  out  in  a  friendly  voice. 
"Out  of  the  jug?" 

"Not  exactly,"  was  Tom's  halting  reply.  His  spy  had 
been  faithful  all  right.  But  this  change  in  the  drill 


FIRE  75 

schedule  prevented  Reggie  from  trying  his  customary 
smoke  under  the  bleachers.  All  prospects  of  the  great 
thrashing  had  disappeared. 

"Oh,  I  see,"  continued  the  officer.  "Just  out  for  a 
bit  of  air." 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Tom  having  nothing  else  to  say. 

"Very  well  then  come  along  with  us.  We're  going  to 
have  some  real  maneuvers  with  the  sub-chasers  this 
morning." 

With  pleasure  Tom  joined  the  column.  He  was  sea- 
going enough  to  love  these  short  cruises  down  the  bay  in 
the  speedy  little  vessels.  And  there  lurked  in  his  mind 
the  feeling  that  by  sticking  with  the  crowd  he  might  yet 
have  his  chance  to  beat  Reggie  Van  Brunt  into  a  "ripe- 
peach  pulp"  as  he  framed  it. 

This  day  there  was  a  fleet  of  twelve  boats  divided 
into  three  divisions.  Tom  took  the  helm  on  the  flag- 
ship, with  Lieutenant  Ruggles  acting  as  the  Admiral  in 
command. 

"Now  we  shall  assume  that  there  is  the  enemy,"  ex- 
plained the  latter.  He  pointed  to  an  ocean  liner  out- 
ward bound  from  Baltimore  about  eight  miles  to  the 
eastward. 

A  flutter  of  flags  ran  to  the  yard-arm. 

"Enemy  on  starboard  bow !"  read  the  signalmen  on  the 
following  boats. 

"Divisions  column  right,"  was  the  next  hoist. 

A  little  later  the  formation  was  swung  into  line  again 
and  deployed  in  such  a  way  as  to  cut  off  the  enemy's 
retreat. 

"Open  fire  when  within  range.  Concentrate  on  the 
leading  ship !"  sang  out  the  acting  admiral. 


76 

Tom  thrilled.  All  the  zest  of  a  real  high-sea  action 
boiled  up  in  him.  His  heart  beat  faster.  He  could 
almost  hear  again  the  drone  of  the  fire-control  parties, 
the  singing  of  the  turret  motors,  the  clash  of  shell  and 
rammer,  breech  and  lock,  he  had  learned  to  love  so  in 
the  real  Fleet. 

"Breakdown  on  the  Forty-two!"  yelled  the  starboard 
lookout  just  when  the  enemy  was  about  to  be  annihilated. 

Lieutenant  Ruggles  sprang  to  his  engine-room  tele- 
graphs. "Hard  aport!"  he  shot  at  Tom. 

"Both  wing  engines  disabled,"  signaled  the  stricken 
chaser.  She  was  veering  wildly  out  of  column  to  the 
great  peril  of  those  behind  her. 

With  accurate  promptness  Lieutenant  Ruggles  met  the 
emergency  as  befitted  a  steely-nerved  naval  officer. 

"Signal  Twenty-nine  to  take  charge  and  lead  back  into 
port,"  he  directed.  Then  turning  to  Tom:  "Put  us 
alongside  Forty-two,"  he  added.  "Think  you  can  do  it?" 

Tom  nodded  with  a  smile.  For  several  months  of  the 
previous  winter  he  had  been  coxswain  of  the  Alaska's 
fifty-foot  picket  launch  in  the  fleet.  Work  in  the  Chesa- 
peake Bay  was  child's  play  compared  to  the  great  seas 
that  he  had  fought  so  many  times  on  the  Southern  Drill 
Ground  off  Cape  Henry. 

At  least  so  he  thought. 

He  got  alongside  all  right.  The  officer  had  but  a  foot 
to  jump  when  Tom  slid  the  vessel  under  him  up  across 
the  quarter  of  her  helpless  sister. 

Then  came  the  breeze.  For  an  hour  this  breeze  re- 
mained a  breeze. 

And  still  Tom  lay  off  while  Lieutenant  Ruggles 
struggled  over  the  stubborn  gas  engines  of  the  Forty-two. 


FIRE  77 

All  his  knowledge  of  the  theory  of  them  could  not  over- 
come their  war-worn  cylinders  and  bases  racked  to  pieces 
by  a  terrific  service  two  years  previous  in  the  English 
Channel. 

By  noon  the  breeze  had  freshened  to  a  strong  nor'west 
wind.  The  little  vessels  began  to  roll  as  they  drifted  in 
the  trough  of  the  seas  out  into  the  middle  of  Chesapeake 
Bay. 

Thirty  minutes  later  the  wind  had  become  a  half-gale. 
Water  began  to  slop  across  the  main  deck. 

Tom  took  real  command  at  once.  "Secure  every- 
thing," he  ordered.  "Haul  over  all  your  hatch-hoods!" 

Dumbly  the  midshipmen  obeyed  him.  Several  were 
already  feeling  the  effects  of  the  rolling.  None  were  yet 
accustomed  enough  to  the  water  to  feel  at  ease  under 
such  circumstances. 

"Over  she  goes !"  roared  Tom  gaily,  as  one  greenfaced 
lad  rushed  for  the  rail. 

In  five  minutes  more  he  mustered  his  crew  on  deck. 
He  discovered  that  only  four  out  of  the  dozen  could  be 
counted  on  for  work.  The  rest  were  ready  to  give  up 
the  ghost — and  breakfast,  too — no  matter  what  the 
danger. 

Somewhat  worried,  Tom  put  his  spy-glass  on  the  boat 
he  was  standing  by.  Was  he  going  to  have  to  tow  her 
in  after  all? 

As  he  looked  he  saw  a  white  figure  hanging  over  the 
Forty-two's  lee  rail.  Something  about  the  long  legs 
struck  him  as  familiar.  Suddenly  he  brought  his  hand 
down  on  his  leg  with  a  loud  smack. 

"Why  it's  dear  sweet  little  Reggie !"  he  shouted. 

Joyfully  Tom  gazed  at  his  intended  victim's  convul- 


78  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

sions.  And,  when  Reggie  staggered  to  a  forward  hatch 
and  disappeared,  he  complained  as  though  he  had  been 
deprived  of  a  rightful  entertainment. 

At  this  instant  someone  aft  on  Tom's  own  boat  let 
out  a  screech  that  startled  him.  "Fire!"  bawled  the 
midshipman. 

Tom  left  the  bridge  and  darted  aft.  "Where? 
Where?"  he  shouted. 

"There !"  the  boy  replied,  and  pointed  at  the  Forty-two. 

To  his  dismay  Tom  saw  the  yellowish-white  fumes  of 
burning  oil  issuing  in  great  clouds  from  her  engine- 
room  hatch. 

His  heart  sank.  Not  three  months  before  he  had  seen 
a  sub-chaser  blown  to  atoms  ten  minutes  after  the  first 
alarm.  Such  a  vessel  carries  three-thousand  gallons  of 
gasoline! 


CHAPTER  VIII 

DILEMMA 

TOM'S  first  impulse  was  to  attempt  a  rescue  by  boat. 

"Clear  away  the  dory!"  he  shouted. 

Only  three  men  were  able  to  answer  the  call.  Two  of 
these  did  so  half-heartedly.  They  were  not  seasick,  nor 
did  they  lack  courage.  Simply  did  they  realize  how 
slight  a  chance  the  tiny  shell  of  a  boat  would  have  in 
the  great  crashing  waves.  The  sub-chasers  themselves 
were  being  tossed  about  like  a  pair  of  toothpicks. 

"Get  hold  of  those  falls,  you  sheep!"  roared  Tom. 

"Not  a  chance  with  this  match-box,"  one  of  the  mid- 
shipmen retorted. 

"Chance  with  anything,"  Tom  bellowed  back,  "if 
you've  got  the  guts  to  take  it!" 

Fully  he  realized  how  desperate  the  risk  was  to  launch 
the  dory.  But  with  equal  sureness  he  grasped  the  ter- 
rible predicament  of  those  aboard  the  burning  Forty-two. 

While  his  men  were  clearing  the  tackle  he  glanced 
across  at  her.  He  saw  two  blackened  figures  emerge 
from  the  engine-room  hatch.  Between  them  they 
dragged  the  body  of  a  third.  It  looked  like  Lieutenant 
Ruggles. 

"Explosion !"  muttered  Tom.  And  back  to  him  came 
the  dreadful  recollection  of  the  other  accident  he  had 
seen :  men  torn  and  scorched ;  groaning,  screaming  men ; 
men  without  eyes;  men  begging  for  death. 

He  saw  two  midshipmen  clear  the  other  chaser's  dory. 

79 


go  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

He  saw  it  swung  out.  He  saw  the  chaser  itself  lift  into 
the  air  on  one  gigantic  sea  till  half  her  keel  was  exposed. 
And,  to  his  horror,  he  watched  her  drop  with  a  sickening 
swiftness  into  the  following  trough,  carry  the  flimsy  dory 
with  her,  and  crush  it  to  a  handful  of  splinters. 

Tom  realized  at  once  he  must  act  quickly  or  his  own 
boat  would  share  the  fate  of  the  Forty-two's. 

He  rang  up  full  speed  ahead  and  put  the  helm  hard 
over.  Slowly  the  chaser  gained  headway.  He  swung 
her  up  into  the  wind.  Then  "full  speed  astern,"  he 
jingled. 

The  maneuver  placed  the  running  sea  on  the  chaser's 
starboard  bow.  On  her  port  quarter  was  a  lee ;  not  calm 
by  a  whole  lot.  But  enough  shelter  to  allow  the  dory  to 
be  launched. 

"Overboard  with  her!     Quick!"  ordered  Tom. 

With  maddening  slowness  the  little  rowboat  swung  out 
on  her  single  davit.  Like  the  tail  of  a  kite  she  waved 
and  twisted  in  the  gale.  Then  with  a  splash  she  dropped 
safely  into  the  water. 

"Here,  Cummings,"  yelled  Tom.  "Take  the  wheel. 
Jones  and  I  will  go  in  the  boat."  He  realized  that  his 
leadership  was  necessary  there. 

The  Cummings  thus  addressed  spun  about  with  a  look 
of  vast  relief  on  his  face.  In  fact,  he  was  so  relieved 
he  forgot  for  a  moment  to  tend  the  boat  painter  he  was 
holding. 

At  the  same  instant  a  huge  wave  lifted  the  Twenty-nine 
to  its  crest.  Cummings  was  not  ready.  The  painter 
tautened.  The  dory  was  shot  into  the  chaser's  side  like 
a  catapult  just  in  time  to  meet  the  descending  hull.  It 
was  crushed  to  kindling. 

"You  fool!"  roared  Tom,  "you  landlubber!" 


DILEMMA  81 

"Better  so,"  was  the  sullen  reply.  "Was  crazy  to 
think  of  our  going  over  there  in  the  dory." 

Tom  ignored  this  speech.  With  a  set  face  he  turned 
again  to  his  engine  telegraphs  and  again  rang  up  full 
speed  ahead.  He  was  desperate.  Each  chaser  carried 
but  one  dory  for  abandoning  ship  in  emergency.  Now 
both  chasers  had  lost  them. 

Any  moment  he  might  hear  the  awful  explosion  of  the 
Forty-two's  gas  tanks  and  see  both  men  and  chaser 
scattered  in  gruesome  remnants  about  the  surface  of  the 
Bay. 

Again  he  took  his  place  at  the  wheel.     While  the  boat 

slowly  gained  steerageway,  he  rang  up  the  engine-room. 

"Give  her  all  she's  got!"  he  entreated.     "If  we  don't 

take  that  crowd  off  in  three  minutes,  we  may  never  see 

any  of  them  again !" 

The  timid  Cummings  clung  to  Tom's  elbow.  "Why 
can't  they  jump?"  he  asked. 

"It's  the  wounded,  you  imbecile,"  said  Tom  shortly. 
"If  everyone  goes  over  the  side  and  deserts  the  injured 
men — well,  is  that  your  idea  of  doing  a  job?" 

"No — but  if  we  run  into  them  in  this  sea  we're  going 
to  cave  in  the  side  of  our  own  ship." 

Tom  spun  the  wheel  viciously.  "Right  you  are — 
right  as  to  the  chance  we  stand  of  being  hove  square  into 
'em  when  we  pass.  But  that's  where  yours  truly  is  going 
to  cross  his  fingers  and  spit.  It's  our  one  best  bet  for 
saving  them  and  I'm  here  to  see  it  through." 

Meanwhile  he  steered  the  Twenty-nine  in  a  wide  circle 
to  windward  of  the  Forty-two.  The  latter  was  drifting 
nearly  broadside  on  to  the  sea.  If  he  went  to  leeward 
the  drifting  boat  might  ride  down  on  him  even  in  the  few 
seconds  it  would  take  him  to  pass  her.  Such  collision 


82  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

would  undoubtedly  stove  in  the  sides  of  both  boats. 
They  would  sink  in  five  minutes  with  all  their  heavy 
engines  aboard.  And  the  crews  would  drown  in  the 
wild  seas  long  before  any  help  could  come. 

Twenty-nine  quivered  as  she  gained  speed.  "Hoist 
'stand  by  to  be  picked  up,' "  commanded  Tom.  The 
bunting  popped  in  the  vicious  gusts  as  it  snapped  to  the 
yard-arm. 

Men  on  the  Forty-two  clustered  to  the  rail  when  they 
caught  the  signal.  Three  white  figures  lay  helpless  on 
the  deck. 

"Down  rail  and  stand  by  to  lend  them  a  hand!"  sang 
Tom,  never  taking  his  eye  from  his  jackstaff.  Did  he 
miss  the  exact  course  by  a  degree  and  he  would  not 
only  fail  to  rescue  the  crew  on  the  burning  vessel,  but 
likely  he  would  send  both  craft  to  the  bottom  of  the 
Bay. 

Several  of  the  seasick  midshipmen  roused  themselves 
up.  A  sense  of  the  tragedy  that  threatened  compelled 
them  to  forget  for  the  moment  their  own  misery. 

Tom  stood  braced  and  calm  at  the  wheel.  His  brain 
was  clear  and  cold.  He  wasted  no  misgivings  on  the 
boldness  of  his  plan.  Never  for  a  moment  did  he  dream 
of  what  failing  would  be  like.  If  death  was  at  hand, 
one  would  never  have  guessed  it  from  his  quiet  concen- 
tration on  the  course.  If  he  stood  a  little  tensely,  it  was 
no  more  than  the  physical  effort  any  man  might  make 
when  the  deck  under  him  is  bucking  like  a  western 
bronco. 

The  Twenty-nine's  stem  slid  even  with  the  smoking 
stern  of  the  Forty-two. 

"Stand  by !"  warned  Tom. 


DILEMMA  83 

No  man  moved.  Each  was  braced  and  clinging  to 
some  staunch  bit  of  deck  gear  in  order  to  give  all  possible 
aid  to  those  jumping  for  their  lives. 

A  touch  of  rudder  toward  the  other  boat;  then  a  hard 
helm  away.  And  neatly  the  Twenty-nine  swung  her 
main  deck  to  a  clean  two  feet  away  from  her  sister. 

The  two  chasers  balanced  giddily  on  the  crests  of  a 
gigantic  sea.  Between  them  the  green  water  was  churned 
into  a  white  froth. 

Someone  cried  "Jump!"  But  the  word  was  unneces- 
sary. First  came  the  three  injured  men.  One  was 
almost  flung  across.  Then  simultaneously  the  dozen 
others  leaped. 

Six  seconds  later  the  Twenty-nine  swerved  clear.  She 
had  not  so  much  as  touched  the  Forty-two.  Danger  was 
past  and  all  hands  safe. 

"Gosh!"  was  Tom's  only  comment  as  he  left  Cum- 
mings  at  the  wheel  and  sought  Lieutenant  Ruggles  who 
was  being  deposited  in  a  comfortable  bunk  below. 

"Good  Boy!"  sung  out  the  latter,  as  Tom  stuck  his 
head  into  the  stateroom.  "Not  a  man  in  this  bloomin' 
Navy  could  have  done  any  better !" 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Tom  relieved  to  find  the  other's 
injuries  consisted  mostly  of  a  twisted  ankle  got  when  the 
flame  had  burst  out.  He  glanced  at  the  two  scorched 
midshipmen.  They  too  had  escaped  providentially  with 
but  superficial  burns. 

"What  now,  sir ;  shall  we  stand  by  her  ?" 

"Yes,"  directed  the  officer.  "But  keep  well  clear. 
She's  likely  to  go  up  any  moment." 

"Aye,  aye,  sir."  As  Tom  reached  the  door  curiosity 
overcame  him.  "What  happened  anyway,  sir  ?"  he  asked. 


84  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

Ruggles  smiled.  "Carburetor  flooded.  Youngster  in 
the  engine-room  lost  Kis  head  and  didn't  shut  down  in 
time.  Backfire  naturally  caught  the  waste  oil  on  the 
bilges.  Next  time  that  young  idiot  Van  Brunt  gets — 
why  what's  the  matter,  Poor?" 

Tom  had  gone  ghastly  white.  He  staggered  up  against 
the  bulkhead.  "Wh — why  he's  not  aboard,  sir."  In  the 
excitement  Tom  had  completely  forgotten  that  he  had 
last  seen  Reggie  disappear  down  a  forward  hatch  of  the 
other  boat.  He  could  swear  he  had  not  come  aboard 
the  Twenty-nine. 

"Good  God !"  exclaimed  Ruggles. 

"Yes,"  groaned  Tom,  "I  remember  now  that  I  watched 
him  go  forward  just  before  we  saw  the  fire.  He  must 
have  been  seasick.  And  he's  probably  curled  up  in  one 
of  the  bunks  this  minute  entirely  unconscious  of  the 
danger.  No  smoke  is  getting  forward.  The  wind  is 
keeping  it  aft.'" 

A  look  of  even  greater  horror  came  into  the  Lieuten- 
ant's eyes.  "And  the  gasoline  tanks  are  just  on  the 
other  side  of  the  bulkhead.  Poor,  poor,  kid — he  hasn't 
a  chance  in  the  world!" 

At  the  word  "chance"  Tom  stiffened  as  if  he  had  been 
struck.  It  brought  back  his  contempt  of  Cummings' 
timidity,  and  how  he  had  condemned  Cummings  for  not 
being  willing  to  take  any  sort  of  chance  in  order  to  save 
the  life  of  another  man. 

"He  has  a  chance,  sir,"  snapped  Tom,  "if  you'll  let 
me  take  it." 

"Of  course  I  will,  boy.  But  is  it  worth  it?  Is  it  a 
real  chance?  And  can  you  say  you  are  not  selling  the 
lives  of  many  for  the  sake  of  one?" 


DILEMMA  85 

"Yes,  sir ;  my  word  on  it !  I  promise !"  stuttered  Tom 
in  his  wild  desire  to  save  time. 

Lieutenant  Ruggles  nodded  assent. 

Tom  sprang  up  the  ladder.  He  rushed  to  the  pilot 
house,  rang  up  full  speed  again,  and  headed  a  second 
time  for  the  blazing  ship. 

Flames  were  darting  from  her  hatches  and  ventilators. 
Great  clouds  of  poisonous  vapors  rolled  from  her  engine 
spaces  and  spread  upon  the  stormy  waters  for  half  a  mile 
to  leeward.  Only  the  bow  was  plainly  visible  through 
the  conflagration.  High  wind  swept  the  angry  gases  and 
devouring  flames  to  a  point  just  clear  of  the  hatch  down 
which  the  fainting  Reggie  had  crawled. 

Tom  set  his  teeth.  An  uncontrollable  nervousness 
kept  him  clenching  and  unclenching  his  hands.  It  was 
not  fear.  It  was  the  terrific  battle  of  emotions  within 
him: 

He  had  given  his  word  to  save  the  very  man  he  had 
set  out  that  morning  to  destroy! 

And  now  without  warning,  his  spirit  was  failing  him. 
His  whole  soul  revolted  at  the  thought.  Burning  would 
be  a  just  fate  for  the  coward  who  had  betrayed  him. 
He  didn't  have  to  save  Reggie.  Why  couldn't  some  of 
the  others  try  it?  Why  should  anyone  try  it?  Wasn't 
it  risking  the  lives  of  the  whole  crowd  just  as  Ruggles 
had  pointed  out? 

"Heaven  have  mercy  on  me!"  exclaimed  Tom  half  in 
prayer,  half  in  the  hopelessness  of  his  dilemma. 

He  knew  well  he  would  have  gone  without  question  to 
the  aid  of  any  other  living  man.  Hadn't  he  risked  his 
life  before  for  the  sake  of  a  companion?  But  now  be- 
fore him  like  a  demon  stood  this  dreadful  hatred  of 


86  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

Reggie ;  this  inhuman  desire  to  have  the  revenge  of  death 
fall  upon  the  one  who  had  ruined  his  career. 

"You're  the  real  stuff,  Tom  Poor!"  exclaimed  a  voice 
in  his  ear. 

He  turned  to  find  Cummings,  the  weak  and  frightened 
Cummings,  staring  up  into  his  face  with  eyes  swimming 
in  tears  of  admiration. 

It  may  be  said  that  these  words  saved  Reginald  Van 
Brunt's  life.  To  Tom  Poor's  fevered  hesitation  they 
brought  instant  and  unwavering  decision. 

But  Cummings  never  knew  it.  All  he  got  from  Tom 
was  a  look  of  such  undisguised  ferocity  that  he  shrank 
back  bewildered. 

"Right — keep  her  right!"  barked  Tom  to  the  midship- 
man he  had  put  at  the  wheel.  "Don't  you  know  she'll 
go  up  any  minute  now?"  He  smiled  grimly.  "Go  up 
any  minute  now,"  he  repeated  to  himself.  A  queer 
sense  of  triumph  was  creeping  over  him.  It  was  as  if 
he  had  conquered  something. 

Opposite  the  Forty-two  and  a  safe  fifty  yards  to  wind- 
ward Tom  slipped  off  his  shirt  and  jumper  and  dived 
into  the  sea.  Wave  after  wave  swept  clean  over  him. 
But  with  powerful  strokes  he  drove  his  lithe  young  body 
closer  and  closer  to  the  flaming  derelict. 

All  hands  came  on  the  Twenty-nine's  deck  and  stood 
in  silent  agony.  Tom's  was  a  race  with  death.  The 
burning  engine-room  must  be  a  fiery  furnace.  Hotter 
and  hotter  were  growing  the  metal  casings  of  the  gasoline 
tanks.  Let  them  once  reach  the  proper  temperature  and 
no  power  in  the  world  could  save  so  much  as  a  stick  of 
timber  of  the  ill-fated  craft. 

Tom  reached  her  bow.  A  sea  lifted  him  and  threw 
him  heavily  against  the  deck  combing.  For  a  moment 


DILEMMA  87 

he  hung  stunned.  Then  painfully  he  crawled  up  and 
over.  He  dashed  aft  ten  feet  and  plunged  down  the 
hatch. 

"He's  got  him !     He's  got  him !"  cried  a  dozen  voices. 

Tom  had  appeared  again  dragging  the  long  limp  form 
of  Reggie  Van  Brunt.  With  a  frenzy  of  haste  he 
rushed  forward  and  flung  himself  and  Reggie  into  the 
very  body  of  an  oncoming  comber. 

Then  came  the  explosion.  Broad  tongues  of  blinding 
flame  shot  a  hundred  feet  into  the  air.  Beams  and  tim- 
bers, pipes  and  pistons,  deck-gear,  sheathing  plates,  and 
chain  were  hurled  in  a  great  fountain  of  wreckage  to  all 
sides. 

Miraculously  the  Twenty-nine  was  unhit  though  frag- 
ments fell  all  about  her. 

Lieutenant  Ruggles  had  dragged  himself  on  deck. 
"Head  her  down!"  he  cried.  "We've  got  to  get  them 
out  of  the  oil !" 

He  pointed  to  the  yellowish  flickers  that  were  springing 
up  all  about  where  the  Forty-two  had  been  but  a  moment 
before.  Floating  oil  was  rapidly  catching  fire  in  all 
directions.  If  Tom  and  Reggie  were  still  alive,  they 
must  be  soon  burned  to  death  or  asphyxiated  in  this  new 
terror. 

But  even  in  the  very  jaws  of  death,  Tom  had  kept  his 
head.  As  he  went  under  the  surface  dragging  Reggie 
after  him,  he  felt  the  terrific  concussions  made  by  the 
exploding  tanks.  He  knew  his  safety  lay  in  keeping 
down.  So  with  bursting  lungs  he  swam  under  water 
until  Reggie's  struggles  indicated  that  he  would  drown  if 
submerged  any  longer. 

On  reaching  the  surface,  he  found  he  had  cleared  the 
danger.  A  few  minutes  later  Twenty-nine  bore  down  on 


88  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

him,  backed,  made  a  lee,  and  picked  the  pair  of  them  up 
with  heaving  lines. 

By  noon  Tom  was  in  his  room  again.  Outside  paced 
the  marine  orderly.  So  far  as  appearances  went,  the 
morning's  adventure  was  but  a  dream. 

Tom  knew  that  it  wasn't  a  dream  though.  "Take  more 
than  any  dream  to  stop  me  hating  Reggie  Van  Brunt,"  he 
laughed  to  himself. 

Which  was  what  had  happened:  for  all  the  thrill  and 
excitement  of  the  explosion,  the  rescue,  the  cheers,  had 
none  of  them  seemed  as  strange  to  Tom  as  the  fact  that 
when  he  got  back  to  his  room  the  overpowering  and 
venomous  abhorrence  he  had  had  of  Reggie  Van  Brunt 
had  evaporated.  And  in  its  stead  had  come  a  curiously 
peaceful  and  contented  indifference. 

Tom  had  met  the  worst  that  a  man  may  meet;  the 
necessity  to  sacrifice  himself  for  an  enemy.  And  he  had 
made  good. 

A  knock  on  the  door  broke  into  his  reverie. 

"Guess  I'm  not  needed  any  more,"  grinned  the  marine 
guard  as  he  handed  Tom  a  slip  of  paper. 

On  the  slip  was  scrawled  in  pencil : 

/  gave  the  Admiral  a  full  account  of  your  heroism. 
As  a  result  he  says  the  service  can't  afford  to  lose  such 
material  for  an  officer.  He's  going  to  dismiss  the  charges 
against  you  and  let  you  off  with  fifty  demerits  and 
a  warning — You  lucky  plebe! 

Ruggles. 

And  scarcely  had  he  read  the  signature  than  the  room 
was  filled  with  a  roar  of  cheers  from  the  terrace  outside. 


DILEMMA  80 

"What's  the  matter  with  Tom  Poor?"    Six  hundred 
voices  in  unison. 
"He's  all  right!" 
"Who's  all  right?" 
«T— O— M—  P— OOOOOR!" 
"Speech!    Speech!" 


CHAPTER  IX 

HAZED 

TEN  weeks  later,  October  second  to  be  exact,  a  strange 
scene  took  place  in  Tom's  study. 

A  chair  had  been  placed  on  top  of  the  table  in  the 
center  of  the  room.  In  the  chair  sat  a  large  and  impres- 
sive-looking man  in  an  extraordinary  costume.  About 
his  shoulders  was  draped  a  white  bedspread.  On  his 
head  was  perched  at  a  rakish  angle  an  inverted  wicker 
basket. 

The  man  drew  heavily  from  time  to  time  upon  a  large 
corncob  pipe.  From  this  it  could  be  told  that  he  was  a 
first-classman.  None  of  the  under  classes  at  Annapolis 
are  permitted  to  use  tobacco. 

Directly  in  front  of  the  improvised  throne  and  on  the 
floor  knelt  a  line  of  plebes.  Just  as  one  would  recognize 
the  first-classman  by  his  pipe,  so  one  could  not  mistake 
the  plebes  by  the  expression  of  idiotic  helplessness  that 
hung  upon  their  faces. 

Grouped  about  the  room  were  other  upperclassmen, 
laughing  and  talking  and  thoroughly  enjoying  the  per- 
formance they  had  been  invited  to  witness. 

It  was  a  trial;  a  trial  of  base  criminals  by  the  King 
himself. 

"Salute,  O  Pieces  of  Cheese!"  commanded  the  King, 
adjusting  the  wastebasket  more  comfortably  upon  his 
royal  head. 

The  five  plebes  salaamed  until  their  foreheads  touched 

90 


HAZED  91 

the  bare  floor.  "Live  long,  O  King;  live  long!"  they 
chanted  together. 

The  King  stamped  angrily  on  the  base  of  his  throne. 
"More  enthusiasm!"  he  roared,  "you — you  human  cob- 
webs." 

A  murmur  of  approval  went  through  the  audience. 
The  King's  choice  of  epithets  was  amazingly  apt. 

"Name  the  crimes,  General,"  hastily  interposed  Sam 
Peabody.  Well  he  knew  the  possibilities  of  a  scene 
if  the  King  and  his  General  got  started  in  a  private  row. 

The  General,  otherwise  known  as  "Midget,"  drew  a 
dirty  piece  of  paper  from  his  pants  pocket,  and  proceeded 
to  read  in  a  melancholy  voice : 

"George  Melville  Audrey  Johnson,  having  in  his  pos- 
session and  continuing  to  hold  in  his  possession  without 
division  or  sharing  thereof,  either  to  his  friends  or  class- 
mates, one  gigantic  chocolate  cake." 

"What?"  roared  the  King.  "Ah,  the  baseness  of  the 
wretch !"  He  glared  at  the  kneeling  Audrey  who,  terri- 
fied, salaamed  and  murmured  his  desire  for  the  King  to 
live  forever. 

"Has  he  still  got  it?"  came  a  raucous  voice  from  the 
audience. 

"Scum  of  the  Universe,  hast  still  got  this  cake  ?"  asked 
the  King. 

"Yes,  sir,"  weakly  from  Audrey.     "I'll  get  it,  sir." 

"Do  so  at  once — at  once!"  commanded  His  Majesty. 
And  turning  proudly  to  his  fellow  aristocrats.  "The 
Royal  revenue  increases,  by  heck !"  he  boasted. 

"Reginald  Van  Brunt,"  continued  the  General,  "squeal- 
ing on  a  classmate,  blowing  up  a  man-of-war — " 

"It  isn't  so !"  burst  the  horrified  Reggie. 

The  King  leaped  to  his  feet.    "SILENCE!"  he  bel- 


92  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET     • 

lowed  in  a  voice  of  thunder.  "What  manner  of  louse 
is  this  that  would  betray  his  own  brother?" 

"Pretty  low,  if  you'd  ask  me,"  put  in  Sam. 

The  King  majestically  waved  the  General  to  proceed. 
"The  sentence  of  death  is  too  mild  for  such  an  one,"  he 
proclaimed.  "Next !" 

"Thomas  Poor,  tin  hero ;  swelled  head ;  becoming  great 
before  his  time;  general  rough-neck  and  thug!"  enu- 
merated the  General. 

"Aha!"  said  the  King,  "a  fitting  mate  in  torture  for 
the  previous  prisoner." 

"Live  long,  O  King;  live  long!"  chorused  the  prison- 
ers, this  time  with  a  fervor  that  brought  the  flush  of 
satisfaction  to  him  whom  they  saluted. 

"That's  a  blame  sight  better,"  growled  the  King.  "And 
now  for  the  document  of  crime."  He  glanced  about  the 
room.  "Where's  Sam?"  he  asked  bluntly.  "Bet  the  fat 
goop's  gone  to  sleep." 

A  series  of  grunts  came  from  one  of  the  little  side  bed- 
rooms as  the  porpoise-like  Sam  Peabody  was  dragged  out. 

"Aw,  lemme  'lone !"  he  groaned.  "You're  makin'  big- 
ger fools  of  yourselves  than  of  the  plebes." 

"Hold!"  roared  the  King,  ignoring  the  insult  to  his 
royal  state.  "The  Court  Orator  approacheth." 

He  turned  viciously  to  the  protesting  Sam.  "You  get 
up  here  and  do  your  job,  Tubbo,  or  I'll  have  you  given 
the  watercure  by  your  own  classmates." 

Sam  grinned.  Having  thrown  off  the  grip  of  slumber, 
he  appeared  more  in  spirit  with  the  proceedings.  "Got 
to  have  a  uniform,"  he  said. 

A  long  dark  bathrobe  was  handed  out.  This  he  draped 
over  his  ponderous  figure  after  the  fashion  of  a  Roman 


HAZED  93 

toga.  A  bath  towel  he  wrapped  about  his  head  in  a  kind 
of  turban.  He  then  mounted  the  table. 

"What  ho,  General?"  he  bawled. 

Whereat  there  stepped  from  the  rear  of  the  row  of 
kneeling  plebes  a  little  fierce-looking  man  wearing  a 
false  moustache  and  a  sword. 

"Sire,"  droned  the  General,  "me  and  my  intrepid  band 
have  captured  these  here  wicked  scoundrels."  Evidently 
grammar  was  not  the  General's  strong  point.  "We  were 
about  to  put  them  to  death  at  once.  Then  suddenly  I  be- 
thought me  of  the  joy  their  proper  torture  might  bring 
our  beloved  King."  He  shifted  his  gaze  to  the  King  and 
winked.  "How  'bout  it,  dear  King?"  he  inquired  coyly. 

"Cut  the  sideswipes,"  retorted  the  King. 

At  this  dramatic  moment  the  ringing  of  bells  along 
the  corridor  outside  announced  that  seven-thirty  had  ar- 
rived. The  evening  call  to  study  hour  echoed  from  the 
bugles. 

The  King  leaped  to  his  feet.  "Hey,  you  plebes,"  he 
directed.  "Get  up  and  clear  out.  But  don't  think  it's 
over  with.  "You're  going  to  be  sentenced  and  punished !" 

For  five  minutes  a  human  earthquake  shook  the  gigan- 
tic catacombs  of  Bancroft  Hall.  Midshipmen  seemed  to 
have  been  loitering  in  every  room  but  their  own.  From 
every  door  there  issued  groups  of  rugged-looking  young 
men,  talking  and  laughing. 

On  October  first,  the  day  before,  nearly  two  thousand 
upper-classmen  had  returned  from  their  "September 
leave."  This  is  the  yearly  vacation  which  comes  at  the 
end  of  every  summer  cruise. 

Tom's  class  felt  swamped.  For  nearly  four  months 
they  had  practically  owned  the  place,.  Despite  the  rigor- 


94  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

ous  routine,  they  had  done  pretty  much  as  they  wished 
out  of  hours. 

Now  all  was  changed.  Customs  and  traditions  of  the 
Naval  Academy  handed  down  for  nearly  a  century 
hemmed  them  in  with  a  wall  of  restrictions. 

Ole  and  Tom  had  selected  one  another  as  roommates. 
They  were  not  always  congenial.  But  each  had  a  bigger 
and  broader  way  of  settling  differences  that  made  an  en- 
during friendship  possible. 

This  night  they  settled  grimly  to  the  impressive  mass 
of  new  books  before  them.  "We'll  be  raving  lunatics 
inside  of  a  month!"  cried  Ole  in  despair. 

"Or  bilged !"  said  Tom  in  the  vernacular,  meaning 
bounced  for  failure  in  studies. 

The  door  opened  and  a  pleasant-visaged  older  midship- 
man entered.  According  to  custom  the  two  plebes  stood 
instantly  to  attention,  staring  straight  ahead. 

The  visitor  looked  from  Tom  to  Ole.  "Which  of  you 
is  Hansen?" 

"Me,  sir,"  replied  Ole. 

"Well,  carry  on." 

The  two  took  their  seats. 

"My  name  is  Billings,"  the  stranger  introduced  him- 
self. "I'm  from  Oregon  too,  Hansen,  so  I'm  going  to 
spoon  on  you."  He  held  out  his  hand.  "And  you  too, 
Poor,  as  you're  Hansen's  roommate." 

Having  shaken  on  the  pact  and  thereby  wiped  out  the 
formality  that  must  hold  between  an  upperclassman  and 
a  plebe — 'spooning  on  a  man'  as  it  is  called — Billings 
went  on. 

"While  I'm  here  I  may  as  well  give  you  both  a  little 
advice.  You're  .going  to  have  a  tough  time  these  first 


HAZED  95 

few  months.  Grind  of  studies  is  enough  to  wear  out  a 
new  man  till  he  falls  into  the  swing  of  it.  You  see  reci- 
tations start  at  eight  in  the  morning  and  the  day  is  not 
over  until  four  in  the  afternoon,  with  but  an  hour  out  for 
lunch.  Then  there's  an  extra  hour  of  drill  til'  five  on 
top  of  it  all." 

"I  see  my  finish!"  exclaimed  Ole  drearily. 

"Don't  worry  old  man,"  laughed  Billings.  "You'll  be 
surprised  how  quick  you  will  become  a  regular  bookworm. 
In  three  months  you'll  be  batting  the  tar  out  of  seven  dif- 
ferent kinds  of  math." 

"Or  the  tar'll  be  dripping  out  of  us,"  suggested  Tom. 

"The  greatest  danger  is  this  hazing  business.  Last 
year  we  had  all  that  official  scandal  and  the  first  class 
knocked  off  hazing.  That  is,  they  agreed  not  to  permit  it 
to  go  on.  But  they  have  graduated  now.  And,  as  always 
happens,  the  next  class  takes  up  where  they  left  off." 

"We've  just  had  a  taste  of  it,"  said  Ole. 

"Well,  then  you  know  what  I'm  talking  about.  It's 
a  good  thing,  too.  No  real  harm  is  possible.  And  it 
helps  work  out  the  rawness  from  undesirable  boys  in  a 
way  the  authorities  could  never  reach." 

Billings  turned  to  Tom.  "You're  the  kind,"  he  ex- 
plained frankly,  "that  is  sure  to  get  an  extra  share  of  at- 
tention from  the  hazers.  Your  exploits  last  summer  are 
a  matter  of  common  knowledge.  It  is  to  be  expected  that 
your  head  is  slightly  swelled." 

Tom  grinned  at  the  insinuation. 

"Naturally,  then,  steps  will  be  taken  to  set  you  down 
a  peg.  It  will  be  made  clear  to  you  that  bravery  and 
courage  are  nothing  to  boast  about.  They  are  the  simple 
duty  of  every  Navy  man.  And  doing  your  duty  doesn't 


o6  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

lift  you  out  of  the  class  of  common  plebes,  any  more  than 
the  victorious  admiral  of  a  fleet  would  be  removed  from 
the  conventional  routine  of  his  rank." 

"And  how  about  that  shrimp  who  started  all  the 
trouble?"  asked  Ole,  slightly  peeved  at  this  seeming  de- 
preciation of  his  roommate's  valor. 

"I  was  coming  to  him.  He  is  at  the  opposite  end  of 
things.  He  is  the  undeveloped  kind.  He's  still  tied  to 
the  apron  strings  of  his  past  life.  It's  up  to  Annapolis 
to  put  some  backbone  into  him.  To  stiffen  up  his  ideas 
of  what  is  right  and  wrong.  To  make  a  man  out  of  him 
— or  send  him  back  to  the  kindergarten." 

Tom's  jaw  clicked.     "That's  what  I  tried  to  do." 

"I  know  you  did,"  continued  Billings  gravely.  "But 
your  methods  were  wrong.  You've  been  an  enlisted  man 
I  believe.  You're  used  to  a  rough  and  tumble  justice  that 
served  its  purpose  among  the  tougher  natures  one  is 
bound  to  find  on  deck.  A  finely-tempered  nature  like 
Van  Brunt's,  which  all  its  life  has  been  protected  from 
the  seamy  side  of  life,  you  know  nothing  about.  You 
tried  to  handle  him  by  plain  brutality.  It  wouldn't  work 
in  a  hundred  years.  His  pride  is  our  only  chance  to 
change  him.  To  appeal  to  the  finer  instincts  in  him, 
even  though  they  are  undeveloped,  is  the  only  possible 
means  by  which  we  can  hope  ever  to  make  a  naval 
officer  out  of  him/' 

A  step  and  the  clank  of  a  sword  sounded  in  the  hall. 

"Crickets !  The  O.  C. !"  exclaimed  Billings  and  darted 
into  Ole's  bedroom. 

The  door  opened.  Lieutenant  Ruggles  stuck  his  head 
in.  He  was  nosing  about  on  his  evening  inspection. 

"Good-evening,  gentlemen,"  he  said  pleasantly. 


HAZED  97 

"Good-evening,  sir,"  replied  Tom  and  Ole  stiffly  at 
attention. 

When  the  officer  had  left  Billings  reappeared. 

"Got  to  be  careful,"  he  explained.  "Visiting  during 
study  hour  is  five  demerits  now.  My  best  girl's  coming 
down  for  the  next  hop  and  I've  simply  got  to  keep  off 
tfie  conduct  grade." 

Next  afternoon  after  infantry  drill,  Tom  received  no- 
tice to  be  at  the  boathouse  at  five-thirty.  On  his  arrival 
there,  he  found  the  King  and  the  General  with  a  group  of 
their  retainers  preparing  to  get  under  way  in  a  cutter. 
'Behind  the  cutter  was  fastened  a  canoe. 

"Ha !"  cried  the  General,  "Cfcie  of  the  criminals." 

'Tom  eyed  the  little  man.  In  his  mind  he  was  wonder- 
ing just  how  many  of  the  gang  he  could  clean  out  in  a 
free-for-all  fight.  But  he  remembered  Billings'  caution 
about  the  brutality  of  his  code  and  put  on  the  best  air  of 
respect  he  could  attain. 

"Take  your  eyes  off  me,  you  dirty  plebe!"  piped  the 
General. 

Further  trouble  was  avoided  by  the  arrival  of  Reggie. 

"Oh-ho!"  chuckled  the  King.     "Our  hero  arrives." 

The  words  "Our  Hero"  were  quickly  explained.  Sam 
was  permitted  to  frame  the  sentence  to  be  imposed  upon 
Tom  and  Reggie  for  their  crimes  against  naval  tradition. 

"Mister  Van  Brunt,"  he  announced,  "is  to  have  a  great 
and  salutary  practice  in  executing  the  old  proverb: 
'greater  love  can  no  man  show  than  to  give  his  life  for 
a  friend.'" 

"Ahem,"  coughed  the  King.  "He's  your  best  friend, 
now  isn't  he,  mister  ?"  he  inquired  of  Tom. 

"No,  sir!"  said  Tom  savagely. 


98  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"Haw,  make  'em  kiss  and  prove  it !"  shouted  someone. 

Sam  seized  Reggie  in  an  iron  grip.  "Hug  him!"  he 
commanded. 

Tom  submitted  to  the  indignity  with  a  disgusted  look. 

"Kiss  him,"  added  the  King,  displeased  with  Tom's 
want  of  reverence. 

Tom  touched  his  lips  to  the  cheek  of  the  boy  he  de- 
spised. Down  his  back  he  felt  his  flesh  rise.  His  mouth 
worked.  Only  by  the  greatest  self-control  was  he  able 
to  keep  from  exploding  into  action.  Nothing  would  have 
given  him  greater  pleasure  for  the  moment  than  to  wade 
into  the  whole  jeering  crowd  and  knock  them  down  one 
after  the  other.  The  worst  of  it  was  he  knew  his  phy- 
sical strength  was  equal  to  the  task. 

The  tense  moment  passed  by  someone  reminding  the 
party  that  it  was  getting  late  and  the  work  in  hand  must 
be  started. 

"Yes,  we  must  execute  the  sentences,"  agreed  the  King. 
"Justice,"  he  added  in  sinister  tones,  "must  not  be  delayed 
another  hour." 

The  expedition  embarked  and  headed  out  into  the  river. 
Reggie  and  Tom  were  detailed  to  the  stroke  oars  at 
which  they  could  do  most  of  the  pulling. 

Halfway  across,  the  gas  buoy  was  reached.  This  buoy 
was  a  new  installation  and  had  immediately  fascinated 
the  eyes  of  the  midshipmen.  Its  value  as  an  aid  to  un- 
official activity  was  instantly  recognized  by  all. 

From  under  a  thwart  the  King  pulled  out  a  laundry 
bag.  He  handed  it  to  Tom.  "Your  disguise,"  he  said 
laconically.  "Put  it  on — and  shake  a  leg." 

Not  knowing  what  to  expect,  Tom  dre\v  out  the  con- 
tents of  the  bag.  They  consisted  of  a  woman's  skirt, 


HAZED  99 

a  large  hat  with  several  dilapidated  plumes  rising  from 
its  circumference,  and  a  long  gauze  veil  tinted  a  rosy 
pink. 

Amid  cheers  and  tremendous  laughter  Tom  clothed  his 
magnificent  physique — as  the  gymnasium  instructor  had 
described  it — in  the  humiliating  array  of  feminine  gar- 
ments. 

"Ready  for  the  shipwreck?"  inquired  the  King,  trying 
vainly  to  keep  a  straight  face. 

"The  what,  sir?"  asked  Tom  crossly. 

"Don't  what  me,  young  man,"  was  the  sharp  reply. 
"You're  not  a  young  man  anyway,  just  now.  Your  hero 
days  are  over.  You're  a  beautiful  princess — " 

"Washerwoman's  daughter'd  do  better!"  jeered  Sam. 

"...  in  distress,"  continued  the  King.  "This—"  in- 
dicating the  gas  buoy —  "is  a  desert  isle.  Upon  it  you 
are  about  to  be  shipwrecked.  After  many  moons — " 

"Fifteen  minutes  is  the  most  we've  got,"  prompted 
Sam. 

"...  you  are  to  be  rescued  by  this  gallant,  resolute, 
audacious,  chivalrous,  intrepid,  er — er — " 

"White-livered\"  growled  the  General. 

"...  er — darling  knight  of  the  sea."*  The  King 
turned  and  bowed  ostentatiously  to  Reggie. 

Tom  was  assisted  to  the  rail  from  which  he  stepped 
to  the  buoy.  He  tripped  on  the  skirt  and  almost  went 
overboard. 

The  cutter  then  rowed  away  about  twenty  yards.  Tom 
saw  Reggie  unwillingly  hoisted  into  the  canoe.  To  his 
waist  was  strapped  a  cutlass  and  a  jaunty  hat  of  felt 
with  a  duster  feather  in  it  perched  upon  his  head. 

In  accordance  with  instructions  Reggie  paddled  away 


ioo  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

a  little  distance.  Then  he  turned  and  headed  for  the 
buoy. 

"Pep  up!  Pep  up!"  shouted  the  King.  "Be  what 
you're  supposed  to  be !" 

Whereupon  Reggie  for  the  first  time  entered  somewhat 
into  the  spirit  of  the  occasion.  He  rose  to  his  knees  in 
the  canoe  and,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand  in  best 
wild-indian  style,  announced  in  a  feeble  voice:  "Land- 
ho!  And  a  princess  in  distress.  I'll  save — " 

The  canoe  at  this  instant  gave  a  violent  lurch  to  one 
side  and  Reggie  just  saved  himself  from  capsizing.  His 
hat  flopped  off  and  floated  gently  with  the  tide. 

"Save  my  hat  first!"  roared  Sam. 

"No!"  yelled  the  audience. 

Reggie  awkwardly  continued  upon  his  valorous  mis- 
sion. 

At  the  buoy  he  balanced  his  craft  with  one  hand  and 
emitted  some  sort  of  feeble  announcement  as  to  the  mean- 
ing of  his  fortunate  visit  to  the  desert  island. 

To  the  great  delight  of  the  audience  the  Princess  showed 
unmistakable  signs  of  being  about  to  kick  her  rescuer 
overboard. 

Reggie  heard  the  snickers  in  the  cutter  behind  him. 
And  a  new  kind  of  resentment  was  roused  within  him. 
It  was  bad  enough  to  submit  to  being  made  a  fool  of  at 
the  hands  of  upperclassmen  who  had  the  whole  two- 
thousand  midshipmen  behind  them.  But  to  sink  still 
lower  by  suffering  the  other  victim,  a  plebe  like  himself, 
to  abuse  him  was  unbearable. 

Then,  without  warning  Reggie  put  one  foot  on  the 
buoy,  balanced  for  a  second,  and  dived  headlong  at  the 
Princess. 


HAZED  101 

Tom  had  no  time  to  sidestep  the  tackle.  His  upflung 
hand  caught  the  pipe  by  which  gas  was  fed  into  the  lamp. 
The  struggling  pair  swung  like  a  human  pendulum  with 
the  rolling  of  the  "desert  isle." 

Cheer  after  cheer  rose  from  the  cutter.  The  upper- 
classmen's  delight  was  boundless.  To  draw  from  the 
shrinking  Reggie  some  demonstration  of  true  masculine 
spirit  had  been  their  chief  aim. 

The  summer's  work  had  done  wonders  for  the  weak- 
ling. Constant  drill  and  exercise  had  put  fibre  into  his 
muscle  and  weight  upon  his  bones.  Tom  was  amazed 
at  the  tenacity  with  which  his  assailant  held  on.  He  him- 
self dared  not  lose  his  hold  upon  the  pipe.  Did  he  do  so 
and  they  would  go  overboard  at  once. 

The  early  October  twilight  closed  in  as  the  pair  of 
plebes  struggled  on.  The  audience  roared  their  praise  of 
the  battle. 

Suddenly  the  dark  blotch  of  the  two  bodies  left  the 
buoy.  The  pipe  had  broken.  And,  as  they  submerged  in 
a  great  splash,  the  darkness  was  lit  by  a  burst  of  lurid 
flame  that  fell  like  a  searchlight  upon  the  white  walls 
of  Bancroft  Hall,  half  a  mile  away. 

The  escaping  gas  had  become  ignited  and  blown  up! 

Hastily  the  rather  frightened  hazers  pulled  up  to  the 
wrecked  beacon.  Tom  and  Reggie  were  hauled  in  over 
the  side  unhurt.  Then,  lest  the  law  overtake  them,  the 
party  set  their  backs  to  the  oars. 

That  night  was  the  occasion  of  a  great  ceremony. 
Immediately  after  supper  nearly  a  hundred  first-class- 
men crammed  themselves  into  Reggie's  room.  Tom  was 
present  in  all  his  ruined  finery,  the  pink  veil  having  run 
to  white  with  bloody  blotches. 


102  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"And  now,"  concluded  the  King  after  an  impressive 
description  of  the  thrilling  rescue,  "let  me  present  the 
brave  Sir  Reginald  with  his  well  deserved  reward." 

Amid  a  tumult  of  cheers  and  clapping  the  King  drew 
from  his  robe  a  resplendent  medal  fashioned  from  the 
tin  top  of  a  jelly  glass  and  a  cast-off  garter,  and  pinned 
it  upon  Reggie's  heaving  breast. 

On  the  outskirts  five  less  fortunate  plebes,  secured 
for  the  occasion,  lifted  their  hats  into  the  air  and  pro- 
claimed in  a  rather  strained  chorus : 

"Hail  to  Sir  Reginald!  Hail!" 


CHAPTER  X 


"On,  you/awfo!" 
"Put  some  juice  on  !" 
"Heave  around!     Heave  around!" 
"Now  once  more  —  all  together,  and  let's  see  you  bite 
holes  in  it!" 

"No,  Billings.  Wait  a  minute.  Now  listen  to  me, 
plebes.  Don't  lean  too  far  forward.  That  just  ties  knots 
in  your  lungs.  Keep  your  bloomin'  chests  up.  Take 
deep  breaths.  Use  the  weight  of  your  shoulders  to  give 
volume  to  the  sound.  .  .  All  right,  Billings." 

"Now  once  more,  all  together.  Four  N  yell,  one  Navy, 
and  three  teams!" 

The  speaker  threw  down  his  megaphone.  After  the 
megaphone  he  threw  his  cap.  With  a  jerk  he  unbuttoned 
his  blouse  and  collar.  His  hair  stood  up  in  a  wild  ridge. 
He  raised  his  hands  —  raised  himself  on  tiptoes  —  bal- 
anced tensely  for  half  a  second,  then  descended  to  a 
stooped  knot. 

Simultaneously  and  in  rhythmic  unison  there  poured 
from  the  throats  of  six-hundred  lusty-lunged  young  men 
the  following  cheer: 

N!  N!  N!  N! 
A!  A!  A!  A! 
V!  V!  V!  V! 
Y!  Y!  Y!  Y! 

N-A-V-Y  ! 
TEAM!  TEAM!  TEAM! 

103 


104  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"That's  somewhat  better,"  commented  cheer-leader 
Billings,  wiping  the  sweat  from  his  brow. 

Below  the  stand  at  another  kind  of  practice  stood 
Tom  Poor. 

Tom  went  out  for  football  for  three  reasons:  First, 
he  considered  it  his  duty.  Second,  he  saw  in  athletics 
success,  the  road  to  that  fame  which  every  boy  dreams 
for  himself  from  the  time  he  can  kick  a  ball  or  swing  a 
bat.  Third,  he  liked  it. 

There  was  a  fourth  reason  which  Tom  didn't  know 
was  a  reason,  but  which  was  the  most  important  of  all. 
This  reason  was  whispered  by  Coach  McGee  to  Scotty 
the  trainer  just  after  the  Army-Navy  game  the  year  be- 
fore. And  it  was  discussed  again  this  very  afternoon: 

"Scotty,  we  lost  that  Army  game  for  just  one  rea- 
son." 

"I  think  I  know,  sir." 

"Likely. — Would  you  say  it  was  Grimes?" 

"Yes,  sir.  I've  figured  that  by  his  selfish  desire  to 
make  himself  a  star  last  year  he  sacrificed  the  team-work 
that  would  have  won  the  game  for  us." 

"More  than  that,  Scotty.  He  got  the  team  into  a  state 
of  mind  where  they  didn't  know  whether  they  were  to 
blame  me — or  the  system  we've  got  up  for  them." 

"But  what  can  we  do,  Mr.  McGee?  Grimes  is  a 
first-classman  this  year.  He's  had  three  years  to  impress 
his  value  on  the  midshipmen.  And  they  haven't  sup- 
plied us  with  a  single  man  that  can  compare  with 
him." 

"You're  right.  And  he's  stronger  than  any  fourth 
classman  could  possibly  be — barring  a  farm  hand." 

"Who  wouldn't  have  had  the  football  training." 


N!  N!  N!  N!  105 

"Yet  he's  going  to  make  us  lose — I  am  positive  of  it !" 

"Best  player  on  the  squad,  sir,  and  going  to  make  us 
lose!  Wouldn't  that  jar  you?" 

"Well,  Scotty,  take  a  look  at  those  plebes  this  after- 
noon and  let  me  know  what  you  think." 

So  while  his  class  was  toughening  their  lungs  for  the 
great  day,  Tom  was  entered  in  a  contest  for  the  posi- 
tion on  the  Navy  team  held  for  three  years  by  Harrison 
Grimes,  the  greatest  fullback  Annapolis  had  turned  out 
in  many  a  season.  And  yet,  curiously,  this  Grimes  was 
at  the  same  time  the  Navy's  surest  means  of  defeat — due 
to  his  stubborn  refusal  to  play  any  but  a  one-man  game. 

Scotty  called  the  plebe  candidates  to  one  side  of  the 
field. 

"Now  divide  yerselves  up  by  positions,"  he  directed. 

Tom  joined  the  group  of  those  who  desired  to  be  full- 
backs. There  were  four  others.  Only  one  was  within 
thirty  pounds  of  Tom's  weight.  He  was  too  fat  to  be 
promising. 

Scotty  came  at  once  and  studied  the  fullback  material. 
Grimes  was  a  fullback.  Grimes  had  to  be  displaced  if 
it  were  humanly  possible.  Public  opinion  would  pre- 
vent the  coaches  from  displacing  him.  Only  a  miracle 
in  the  shape  of  a  worthy  plebe  could  save  the  team  by 
driving  the  older  man  out  of  his  job. 

"Too  lank,"  muttered  Scotty,  as  he  looked  at  three  of 
the  men.  "Too  fat,"  he  sized  up  the  fourth.  "Too 
short,"  was  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue  for  Tom  when  he 
realized  he  must  look  up  to  see  Tom's  eyes.  The  latter's 
broad  shoulders  made  him  look  shorter  than  he  really 
was. 

"Grown  up  to  that  frame  ?"  was  the  curt  inquiry. 


io6  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"Doctor  once  told  me  we  grow  till  we're  twenty-five," 
laughed  Tom. 

"This  is  no  time  for  foolin';  have  ye  had  any  foot- 
ballin'?" 

"Played  half  on  the  Alaska's  football  team  last  year." 

Scotty's  face  brightened  perceptibly.  "Why  that's 
where  our  old  captain  of  the  'sixteen  went,  wasn't  it?" 

"Yes.     Lieutenant  Rudd  coached  us." 

"Let  me  feel  ye,  laddie."  Scotty's  hands  trembled  as 
he  ran  them  over  Tom's  stringy  arms,  well-filled  shoul- 
ders, and  solid  but  not  too  thick  thighs. 

"Will  ye  trot  a  pace  for  me  an'  back?"  He  pointed 
to  the  goal  posts  fifty  yards  across  the  turf.  Tom  turned 
and  ran  as  directed.  His  long  clean  stride  brought  joy 
into  the  old  trainer's  eyes.  On  the  way  back  he  let  him- 
self out  a  bit.  Bits  of  dirt  shot  from  his  cleated  shoes. 
Like  a  gust  of  wind  he  passed  the  man  who  knew  a  runner 
when  he  saw  one. 

To  Tom's  surprise,  Scotty  turned  and  hastened  away  as 
fast  as  his  old  rheumatic  joints  would  let  him.  Not  a 
word  of  praise  or  approval  for  the  one  he  had  shown 
such  marked  interest  in. 

"Mister  McGee,"  panted  Scotty  a  minute  later.  "I've 
got  him !  I've  got  him !" 

"Lead  me  to  it,"  was  the  doubtful  reply. 

On  the  way  across  the  field  the  coach  picked  up  Grimes, 

The  fullback  was  tall,  well-knit,  handsome,  and  a  born 
athlete.  Except  for  the  look  of  patronizing  conceit  that 
never  left  his  face,  he  was  the  typical  football  hero  one 
sees  pictured  each  fall  on  the  covers  of  magazines. 

"Come  on,  Grimes.  Want  you  to  try  out  a  few  plebes 
for  me." 

"Right!"   said   Grimes.     Nothing   pleased   him  better 


N!  N!  N!  N!  107 

than  to  run  with  the  ball  while  the  men  tried  to  tackle 
him.  Not  only  had  he  great  speed,  but  he  had  cultivated 
a  trick  of  handling  his  legs  that  was  pretty  close  to  foul 
play.  Few  inexperienced  men  had  ever  been  able  to  down 
him  without  laying  themselves  up  for  a  week  or  two. 

Tom  had  his  back  turned  when  the  trio  arrived.  Look- 
ing suddenly  around,  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with 
the  "King"  who  had  superintended  the  hazing. 

"Why  hello,  Princess,"  greeted  Grimes.  "Your  head 
shrunk  any  yet?" 

Tom  was  too  taken  aback  to  reply.  He  had  never 
connected  the  famous  Grimes  with  the  hazing  crowd,  par- 
ticularly with  the  King.  For  that  one  individual  had  been 
petty  and  mean  enough  to  take  advantage  of  Tom's  past 
every  time  he  met  him.  He  never  lost  an  opportunity  to 
call  Tom  a  "hero"  or  "princess,"  or  some  unpleasant 
name  that  insinuated  a  conceit  Tom  had  never  had. 

Scotty  nudged  the  coach.  "There  he  be — the  one 
lookin'  so  mad  at  Mister  Grimes." 

Without  further  parley  the  plebes  were  lined  up. 
Grimes  took  the  ball  down  the  field  far  enough  to  give 
himself  a  start;  and  then,  on  signal,  ran  at  full  speed  to- 
ward the  plebe  whose  turn  it  was  to  tackle. 

To  Tom's  great  satisfaction  his  turn  came  late  enough 
to  give  him  some  idea  of  what  the  fullback  could  do. 
Thus,  by  the  time  he  was  called  out,  he  knew  exactly 
what  to  expect. 

"Now  watch  him,"  whispered  Scotty. 

The  coach's  keen  glance  measured  Tom's  apparent  in- 
difference. "Guess  he's  a  bit  leery  of  Grimes,"  he  mut- 
tered. "These  kids  always  get  stage-fright  when  the 
first  team  shows  up." 

Grimes    gathered    speed    as    he    came.    Though    he 


io8  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

weighed  nearly  two-hundred  pounds,  his  long  and  rather 
light  legs  enabled  him  to  cover  the  ground  like  a  sprinter. 

The  fraction  of  a  second  before  he  reached  his  adver 
sary,  Grimes  caught  Tom's  eye.     Something  in  the  glint 
of  it  warned  him  to  look  out.     So  instead  of  trying  to 
mow  the  tackier  down  by  sheer  momentum  as  he  had  the 
others,  he  swerved  slightly  from  his  path. 

Tom  took  a  quick  step.  Like  an  arrow  his  body  left 
the  ground  and  shot  towards  the  runner.  There  was  a 
heavy  thud  and  a  grunt  as  the  two  bodies  slammed  to  the 
ground.  And  then,  to  the  amazement  of  both  Scotty  ana 
the  coach,  the  ball  went  spinning  merrily  away  down  tb.6 
field. 

Tom  rose  with  a  smile.  By  a  perfectly  legitimate 
means  he  had  wiped  out  a  personal  score  that  the  Annap- 
olis code  did  not  acknowledge;  the  occasional  advan- 
tage an  upperclassman  may  take  of  a  plebe. 

Grimes  did  not  rise.  For  nearly  a  minute  he  lay  where 
he  fell.  Then  with  a  look  of  real  shame  and  unconcealed 
anger  he  sat  up. 

"Think  you're  funny — you   fresh  plebe,  don't  you?" 

Scotty  and  the  coach  betook  themselves  to  cover  of  the 
dressing  room  and  embraced.  "We've  got  him!"  they 
claimed  in  chorus. 

That  night  Tom  received  orders  to  report  to  Grimes' 
study  after  supper.  Suspecting  that  the  fullback  was  go- 
ing to  take  his  feelings  out  on  him  by  means  of  a  little 
private  hazing,  Tom  reported  the  matter  to  his  friend 
Billings. 

"It  isn't  done!"  said  Billings  promptly.  "Hazing  is 
hazing,  and  it  has  its  uses.  But  we  don't  stand  for  any 
private  grudges  settled  that  way.  Just  don't  report  and 
I'll  tend  to  the  matter  myself." 


Nl  N!  Nl  N!  109 

Thus  it  came  about  that  Tom  not  only  found  himself  in 
open  competition  with  one  of  the  foremost  athletes  of 
his  day,  but  was  forced  to  be  an  unwilling  antagonist  of 
a  competitor  that  hated  him  personally  and  with  an  open 
bitterness. 

Naturally,  the  head  coach  and  Scotty  gave  Tom  what 
backing  they  dared.  But  this  was  dangerous  due  to  the 
fact  that  Grimes  might  suspect  a  put-up  job.  He  was 
strong  enough  politically  to  carry  almost  any  point. 
Furthermore,  any  advantages  that  came  to  Tom  only  in- 
creased the  fullback's  determination  to  discredit  him  every 
chance  he  got. 

Tom's  success  dated  from  his  first  practice.  He  ate 
with  the  squad  on  the  special  training  table.  He  was 
made  a  permanent  fullback  on  the  second  or  scrub  team. 
He  received  the  admiration  of  his  class  and  the  greatest 
attention  of  the  whole  corps  of  coaches. 

"Gee,  but  you're  some  notorious  character !"  Ole  told 
him  one  night  after  about  a  dozen  visits  from  upper- 
classmen,  coaches,  trainers,  and  other  interested  parties. 

"Yes,"  admitted  Tom.  "But  that  doesn't  help  me  any 
in  the  classroom." 

"The  heck  it  doesn't!"  said  Ole.  "Seems  to  me  the 
profs  have  their  eyes  on  you  to  help  you  out  every  chance 
they  get." 

"And  there's  this  constant  trouble  with  Grimes,"  con- 
tinued Tom.  "I  never  feel  safe  any  more.  Regular 
crook  that  fellow  is." 

"Careful,  old  man,"  warned  Ole. 

Tom  laughed.  "Careful — I  should  think  I  ought  to 
be.  Do  you  know  that  scoundrel  hid  my  shoes  before  the 
Georgetown  game  the  other  day  when  he  heard  the  coach 
say  I  was  going  in  after  the  first  half?* 


no  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"Are  you  sure  of  it  ?"  exclaimed  Ole.  "That's  the  most 
outrageous  thing  I  ever  heard !" 

"Yes.  The  rubber  told  me  he  saw  Grimes  put  them 
behind  the  towel  rack.  He  thought  Grimes  wanted  to 
take  them  to  the  cobbler's  and  pulled  them  out  to  do  it 
for  him.  When  he  found  they  were  mine,  he  brought 
them  over.  I  could  tell  by  Grimes'  face  as  he  saw  me 
with  them  that  he  had  meant  to  cripple  me  that  way." 

Next  Saturday  came  the  Princeton -Navy  game.  Next 
to  the  Army  contest  it  was  the  biggest  event  of  the  foot- 
ball year  at  Annapolis. 

"You've  got  an  even  chance,"  the  head  coach  told  his 
men.  "That  Princeton  bunch  is  a  bit  older  than  you; 
but  they're  not  an  ounce  heavier  as  a  team.  As  for 
speed,  I'd  say  we  had  a  shade  the  best  of  it." 

One  of  the  alumni  coaches  stepped  up. 

"Excuse  me  for  butting  in,  fellows,"  he  apologized, 
"but  I've  got  a  point  for  you — you  in  particular,  Grimes." 

Grimes  condescended  to  nod. 

"It's  Hale,  that  big  Princeton  tackle.  You  know  I 
went  up  as  scout  for  the  Princeton- Yale  game.  Hale 
carried  the  ball  over  every  third  play  nearly.  He  never 
failed  to  gain  a  first  down  either.  I  don't  know  what  it 
is  about  him.  The  tacklers  simply  can't  seem  to  upset 
him.  I  remind  you,  Grimes,  especially,  because  the 
Princeton  interference  will  smother  our  ends  often 
enough  to  make  our  back  field  take  Hale." 

Grimes  nodded  again  indifferently.  Tom,  however,  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  circle  of  players  drank  in  every 
word.  He  knew  what  a  football  tip  can  mean. 

The  game  was  a  sensation  from  beginning  to  end. 
Princeton  swept  the  Navy  off  her  feet  in  the  first  quarter 


Nl  NI  N!  N!  in 

and  scored  a  touchdown.    Navy  came  back  with  two 
goals  from  field  in  the  second. 

The  third  quarter  was  a  battle  royal.  Time  after  time 
the  gigantic  Hale  was  called  back  of  the  Princeton  line. 
A  few  sharp  signals  and  he  would  be  off  around  the 
end  like  a  human  cyclone.  Navy  defenses  crumbled  be- 
fore the  onslaught.  Five  plays  in  succession,  fullback 
Grimes  alone  stood  between  Hale  and  the  Navy  goal  line. 

The  head  coach  called  Tom.  "Warm  up,  Poor.  The 
Brigade  won't  stand  any  longer  for  the  way  Grimes  is 
bungling  his  tackles.  He's  let  that  fellow  Hale  get  an 
extra  twenty  yards  or  so  on  every  run." 

Tom  threw  off  his  heavy  jersey  and  began  to  trot  up 
and  down.  His  chance  had  come.  Further,  he  thought 
he  knew  what  he  was  up  against:  Grimes  was  simply 
saving  himself.  By  letting  Hale  get  past  him  each  time 
he  could  tackle  without  risk  of  crippling  his  own  arms  or 
legs  and  thus  guard  his  coveted  chance  of  playing  in  the 
Army-Navy  game. 

Such  a  play  had  just  come  off  when  Tom  got  the  word 
to  go  in.  He  dashed  out  to  the  referee.  Having  been 
recognized  he  turned  to  the  man  he  was  to  relieve. 

"Why — what  the  dickens!"  exclaimed  Grimes.  "I 
suppose  you  asked  to  come  in,  eh?" 

Tom  ignored  the  insult. 

An  expression  of  crafty  resolve  flashed  across  the 
humiliated  first-classman's  face. 

"I  tell  you,  Poor,"  he  said  in  sudden  friendliness,  "the 
only  way  to  get  that  bird  Hale  is  to  dive  for  his  knees." 

Tom  was  taken  in.  With  his  great  and  undying  loy- 
alty to  Annapolis  he  could  not  conceive  of  a  man  delib- 
erately misleading  him  at  such  a  time  as  this. 


112  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"I'll  do  it!"  he  said  fervently. 

Two  plunges  through  the  Navy  center  followed.  Then 
Princeton  lost  the  ball  on  Navy's  ten  yard  line.  Rather 
than  risk  a  rush  back,  Navy  kicked.  Tom  warmed  up 
thoroughly  on  the  dash  down  the  field. 

Then  came  the  expected  attack.  Tom  was  twenty 
yards  behind  the  line  and  could  not  make  out  the  play 
for  a  moment.  The  next  thing  he  knew  he  saw  the  tow- 
ering Hale  bearing  down  upon  him,  having  dodged  the 
whole  force  of  Navy  battlers  bent  on  stopping  him. 

Tom  was  cool  enough.  Also  he  knew  how  terrific  his 
responsibility  was.  If  Hale  passed  him,  the  game  was  as 
good  as  lost. 

The  runner  bore  towards  the  sidelines,  forcing  Tom  to 
trot  across  to  meet  him.  Then,  as  Grimes  had  advised, 
he  plunged  his  takeoff  toe  into  the  soft  turf  and  dived. 

Measured  in  time  the  space  between  the  instant  Tom 
leaped  and  when  he  struck  the  ground  was  about  three- 
fifths  of  a  second.  In  actual  experience  it  was  a  matter 
of  hours,  even  days. 

The  exact  point  his  toe  dug  in  for  the  tackle  was  just 
a  tiny  bit  softer  than  the  rest  of  the  field.  His  toe  slipped 
about  four  inches.  These  four  inches  were  sufficient  to 
throw  him  off  his  balance.  Instead  of  a  clean  perform- 
ance, 'Tom  half-whirled  in  midair  and  missed  his  man  by 
nearly  a  foot. 

In  that  fifth  of  a  second  he  saw  suddenly  the  truth. 
Hale,  the  unconquered,  took  a  stride  of  extra  length  at 
the  moment  Tom  should  have  struck  him.  And  in  the 
stride  he  drove  his  broad  knee  upward  with  the  force  of 
a  battering  ram. 

If  Tom  had  made  his  tackle  as  he  planned,  he  would 
have  been  knocked  completely  out ! 


N!  Nl  N!  N!  113 

Of  course  the  trick  was  against  the  rules !  but,  if  done 
as  skillfully  as  Hale  had  learned  to,  no  referee  would 
have  suspected  the  truth.  Grimes  knew.  And  Grimes 
had  done  his  level  best  to  arrange  for  Tom's  obliteration 
by  advising  him  as  he  did. 

Tom  saved  the  situation  by  a  superhuman  wriggle. 
He  shot  one  hand  out  just  in  time  to  catch  Hale's  ankle. 
The  latter  tripped.  Like  a  rubber  ball  Tom  was  up  and 
on  him. 

Next  play  Hale  ran  again.  Again  Tom  alone  was  there 
between  the  runner  and  the  Navy  goal.  This  time  there 
was  no  slip.  And  the  cheers  that  went  up  after  the  per- 
fect tackle  he  made  echoed  against  the  granite  walls  of 
Bancroft  Hall. 

Tom  had  simply  met  trick  by  trick.  He  had  tackled 
high  and  had  turned  his  shoulder  as  he  struck.  It  took 
just  two  lessons  of  this  kind  to  hand  the  famous  Hale 
enough  punishment  to  keep  him  out  of  over  half  the 
plays  that  followed. 

In  the  final  quarter  Tom  placed  himself  on  the  roll  of 
fame  by  carrying  the  ball  over  for  a  winning  touchdown. 
For  the  second  time  he  heard  his  name  on  the  lips  of 
the  multitude: 

"He's  all  right!" 

"Who's  all  right?" 

"Tom  P-O-O-R!" 

And  for  the  second  time  in  a  month  the  head  coach 
and  trainer  silently  embraced  one  another  over  their  pros- 
pects for  getting  the  fullback  they  wished. 


CHAPTER  XI 

CATASTROPHE 

THE  door  crashed  open.  Billings  rushed  in,  followed 
by  Ole  and  several  other  alarmed-looking  plebes. 

"Tom  1"  exclaimed  Billings. 

"Oh,  Tom,  Tom !"  groaned  Ole. 

Tom  leaped  to  his  feet  and  with  mock  desperation 
placed  his  hand  ovei  his  heart. 

"Out  with  it!  Tell  me  the  worst!  Is  she  sinking,  or 
is  she  only  afire?  Or  has  the  good  ship  Cuspidor  blown 
her  boilers  up  and  scalded  the  engine  force  to  death; 
or—" 

Ole  held  up  his  hand.     "Oh,  don't  be  silly ;  it's  awful !" 

"I  know  it,  Admiral  Hansen.  That  is,  I  would  know 
it  if  you  and  these  other  pall-bearers  would  pipe  the  secret 
into  my  waiting  ears." 

Billings  stepped  forward  and  placed  his  hand  kindly 
on  Tom's  shoulder.  "I'd  rather  it  be  anyone  but  you 
Tom,"  he  said  sympathetically.  "Old  Man,  you're  hung 
on  the  skinny  tree  I" 

"You  mean  I'm  posted  unsat.  in  Physics?"  Tom's 
ruddy  cheeks  whitened  slowly. 

"We've  just  this  minute  come  from  the  main  office. 
The  list  is  on  the  bulletin  board.  You  are  down  with  a 
one-five  for  the  month." 

Tom  made  a  rapid  mental  calculation.  Marks  were 
on  the  basis  of  4.0.  as  perfect,  and  a  figure  of  2.5.  was 
necessary  for  a  passing  grade.  With  a  1.5.  to  date  and 

114 


CATASTROPHE  115 

the  poor  showing  he  felt  sure  of  making  on  the  monthly 
examination,  he  stood  a  fair  chance  of  coming  out  un- 
satisfactory for  the  term.  As  there  are  no  such  things 
as  "conditions"  in  the  Naval  Academy,  this  meant  he 
would  be  dropped. 

But  even  more  grievous  was  the  fact  that  he  was  on 
the  ragged  edge  in  one  or  two  other  subjects.  In  con- 
sequence he  would  not  be  permitted  to  continue  his  foot- 
ball. This  catastrophe  struck  at  the  hearts  of  every  one 
of  the  two-thousand  three-hundred-and-one  young  mid- 
shipmen so  set  on  winning  the  Army-Navy  game. 

"It's  rotten!"  moaned  one  of  his  sympathisers.  "Mc- 
Gee  has  said  in  public  that  your  being  at  fullback  would 
save  the  game  for  us !"  The  speaker  didn't  add  that  he 
himself  had  saved  his  official  monthly  allowance  since 
September  to  wager  on  the  game. 

"Who  did  you  have  last  month  in  Skinny?"  inquired 
Billings. 

Tom  scarcely  believed  his  own  words  when  he  ans- 
wered. "Ruggles — why  I  thought  he  was  the  best  friend 
I  had  here !" 

"Go  see  him  at  once,"  urged  Ole.  "Make  it  clear  to 
him  what  your  position  is  on  the  team." 

"Ought  to  know  it,"  snorted  the  plebe,  "without  hav- 
ing to  be  reminded." 

That  afternoon  when  the  last  recitation  was  over  Tom 
hunted  up  his  old  skipper  of  sub-chaser  days,  Lieutenant 
Ruggles. 

"Hello,  Poor,"  was  the  quiet  greeting;  "had  a  hunch 
I'd  see  you  soon." 

"Yes,  sir,  I  wanted  to  find  out  if  there  wasn't  some 
mistake  about  my  mark  in  physics." 

The  officer  shook  his  head.     "Some  day  you  will  realize 


n6  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

what  duty  means,  Poor.  And  I  hope,  too,  you'll  some 
day  realize  what  it  means  to  me  to  have  to  put  you  down 
as  unsatisfactory." 

"But  is  it  necessary,  sir?" 

"Absolutely.  You  have  been  doing  worse  and  worse. 
I  warned  you.  I  gave  you  assistance  I  wasn't  giving  the 
others.  I  knew  what  it  meant  to  the  team,  to  the  mid- 
shipmen, to  the  whole  Academy.  I  even  couldn't  forget 
For  a  moment  that  you  saved  my  life  last  summer." 

The  speaker  paused  and  a  look  of  inexpressible  pain 
came  into  his  face. 

"Tom  Poor,  you  have  made  an  unsatisfactory  mark. 
It  is  my  duty  to  report  exactly  the  mark  you  made.  If  I 
knew  the  whole  world  were  to  fall  in  pieces  for  what 
I've  done,  I'd  do  it  just  the  same." 

"But  can't  the  report  wait  till  next  month?"  faltered 
Tom. 

"No." 

"Can't  I  do  some  extra  work  this  week  and  catch  up?" 

"No." 

"Do  you  think  it  would  help  if  I  went  to  the  Command- 
ant and  explained  that  I  had  got  behind  because  I  was 
too  tired  to  study  nights  after  the  long  football  practices  ?" 

"No." 

"Then  the  Navy  can't  win  just  because  I — one  single 
midshipman — haven't  soaked  up  enough  force  of  gravity 
and  such  stuff  to  suit  my  instructor?" 

"Correct." 

"And  you  believe  that's  the  way  things  ought  to  be 
run?" 

"I  do." 

Tom  crept  back  to  quarters.  And  he  went  through 
the  tortures  of  soul  no  man  can  describe  who  hasn't  been 


CATASTROPHE  117 

bounced  from  a  winning  Navy  team  for  the  sake  of  a 
cold  2.5. 

And  Tom  went  to  New  York  with  the  Brigade.  And 
he  sat  in  the  Polo  Grounds  bleachers;  and — 

No,  he  didn't  cheer.  Something  in  his  throat  made 
him  afraid  to  trust  it. 

And  he  saw  the  Navy  win — in  spite  of  Grimes. 

"I've  got  three  more  years,"  he  choked  to  himself 
when  it  was  all  over.  "I've  three  more  years.  But — " 

A  fat  tear  gathered  in  the  corner  of  his  right  eye. 
Before  he  knew  it  it  had  slipped  over  and  down  his 
cheek.  Hastily  he  flicked  it  off  and  in  a  panic  of  embar- 
rassment looked  around  to  see  who  saw. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A    DESPERATE    ATTEMPT 

As  soon  as  news  of  Tom's  misfortune  got  about,  a 
wild  scheme  to  save  him  formed  in  Reggie's  mind. 

"I  don't  despise  him  like  I  used  to,  Bob,"  he  announced 
that  night. 

Robert  Gary  had  agreed  to  room  with  Reggie  despite 
the  latter's  unhappy  reputation  for  being  a  cad. 

"Pretty  much  of  a  man,  I'd  say,"  was  the  reply.  Bob 
was  the  son  of  an  old  Baltimore  family  and  could  give 
Reggie  tit  for  tat  when  it  came  to  recounting  luxuries  of 
their  past  lives.  On  the  other  hand  he  was  much  broader 
when  it  came  to  judging  his  fellow  men. 

"Powerful  brute,"  agreed  Reggie.  "But  that's  not  the 
point.  Tom  Poor  saved  my  life  after  I  squealed  on 
him.  I've  told  you  before  I  wouldn't  have  done  so  had 
I  known  what  a  decent  sort  he  was.  Now  I  want  to 
even  up  by  doing  something  for  him.  Till  I  do,  my  con- 
science won't  be  clear." 

"Didn't  know  you  had  a  conscience,"  laughed  the  other. 

"Haven't,  when  you  come  right  down  to  it.  But  when 
Tom  Poor  passes  and  takes  no  more  notice  of  me  than 
if  I  were  a  tack  in  the  corridor  linoleum  it  makes  me  feel 
sort  of  creepy." 

"Well,  what's  the  game?" 

Reggie  rose  and  began  pacing  the  floor.  "Can't  say 
exactly,  except  that  I'm  going  to  pull  him  out  of  this  hola 
he's  got  himself  into  in  Skinny." 

118 


A  DESPERATE  ATTEMPT  119 

"Coach  him?" 

"No,  that  wouldn't  do.  He  dislikes  me  too  much. 
Besides  you  and  I  with  our  previous  schooling  have  got 
by  so  easily  in  our  studies  that  neither  of  us  would  know 
just  how  best  to  boost  another  bird  along." 

"How  about  a  few  tips  on  the  examination?  Think 
you  could  pump  some  out  of  Ruggles?" 

"Not  a  chance  in  the  world.  Besides  I've  got  a  better 
hunch  than  that." 

"Shoot." 

But  Reggie  continued  his  nervous  pacing  up  and  down. 
"I'm  afraid  to  tell  you,"  he  said  at  last. 

"Oh,  go  on.  Do  you  think  I'd  mind  anything  after 
I  took  on  a  roommate  who  was  in  Coventry  ?" 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  steal  the  next  Skinny  exam  paper !" 

Bob  started.  "Great  guns,  man !  Please  don't  go  and 
get  yourself  into  another  row." 

"Not  a  chance.  I'm  simply  going  over  to  Mahan  Hall 
tomorrow  night  during  the  hop  and  lift  a  copy  of  the 
paper  off  the  Boss's  desk  neat  as  a  whistle.  My  marks 
are  so  high  that  I  don't  risk  my  own  reputation;  and, 
by  slipping  the  questions  to  Tom  Poor  without  his  know- 
ing where  they  came  from,  I  can  make  sure  he'll  not 
bilge  on  the  semi-ans." 

As  "bilging"  or  getting  dropped  from  Annapolis  on  the 
semi-annual  examination  is  the  fate  of  a  goodly  percen- 
tage of  every  plebe  class,  Reggie  was  thoroughly  justified 
in  his  concern. 

Despite  Bob  Gary's  protests  he  made  ready  to  carry 
out  the  robbery. 

No  plebes  are  allowed  to  attend  Saturday  night  hops. 
Special  liberty  is  granted  upperclassmen  to  visit  the  town 
and  escort  their  partners  down  to  the  magnificent  gym- 


120  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

nasium  where  dances  are  held.  This  creates  a  constant 
traffic  through  the  grounds  on  hop  nights  without  involv- 
ing the  fourth  class. 

By  keeping  in  the  shadows  Reggie  reached  Mahan 
Hall  safely.  He  brought  a  bayonet  under  his  coat. 
Using  this  as  a  jimmy  he  pried  open  one  of  the  first  floor 
windows. 

He  had  taken  the  precaution  of  wearing  rubber  over- 
shoes which  made  no  noise  on  the  carpetless  floors.  A 
bunch  of  skeleton  keys  which  he  had  secured  from  town 
the  same  afternoon  enabled  him  to  reach  the  offices  of 
the  Head  of  the  Department  of  Physics  without  any  great 
effort. 

In  the  darkness  he  felt  his  way  to  the  desk.  It  was 
locked.  He  could  have  used  the  bayonet.  He  didn't 
dare  though.  Should  it  be  discovered  that  a  copy  of  the 
examination  were  missing,  a  new  one  would  of  course  be 
made  out  and  Tom  would  be  as  badly  off  as  ever. 

The  top  drawer  finally  answered  to  one  of  the  keys. 
A  bundle  of  freshly  printed  papers  lay  in  front.  Reg- 
gie extracted  one;  lit  a  match  for  a  moment  to  identify 
it ;  then  folded  it  up  and  placed  it  in  his  cap.  A  midship- 
man's service  uniform  has  no  pockets. 

To  restore  the  desk  to  its  original  condition  was  the 
work  of  a  few  seconds.  Another  minute  and  Reggie  had 
reached  the  corridor.  Then  his  heart  missed  a  beat. 

On  the  floor  beneath  he  heard  a  door  close! 

He  crept  to  the  stairway.  Someone  with  a  flashlight 
was  walking  below.  As  the  flare  passed  near  the  balus- 
trade he  recognized  the  watchman  making  his  evening 
rounds. 

The  watchman  tried  two  doors  while  Reggie  peered 
through  the  railing.  Then  something  happened  to  his 


A  DESPERATE  ATTEMPT  121 

light.  It  went  out.  While  he  stood  fumbling  with  it  the 
idea  came  to  Reggie  that  he  might  make  the  stairs  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  building. 

He  started.  On  his  second  step  a  loud  creak  came 
from  the  floor. 

"Who's  that?"  asked  the  watchman  instantly.  At  the 
same  time  his  light  came  on  again. 

Reggie  held  his  breath. 

"Sure  I  heard  something,"  muttered  the  man. 

As  he  started  up  to  investigate,  Reggie  made  another 
effort  to  pass  down  the  corridor  and  reach  the  other 
wing.  To  his  horror  a  second  time  he  betrayed  himself 
by  stepping  on  another  loose  plank. 

"Halt!'*  cried  the  watchman.     "Halt  or   I'll   shoot!" 

Reggie  wasn't  so  afraid  of  gun  play  as  he  was  of  be- 
ing discovered.  His  conduct  record  was  already  groan- 
ing under  too  great  a  burden  of  demerits. 

His  position  was  growing  more  desperate  every  mo- 
ment. Either  he  must  make  a  break  for  the  other  wing 
or  risk  dashing  past  the  watchman  at  the  moment  he 
reached  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

Reggie  chose  the  latter  plan.  He  might  be  headed  off 
if  he  tried  to  go  around. 

As  the  watchman  put  his  foot  on  the  landing,  Reggie 
leaped  from  behind  the  rail-post  and  dashed  downwards 
four  steps  at  a  jump. 

"Stop !  Stop,  or  I'll  shoot !"  bawled  the  guardian. 

Reggie  paid  no  heed  to  the  warning.  He  was  cov- 
ering the  last  flight  before  the  man  had  a  chance  to  pull 
his  gun. 

As  he  reached  the  window  by  which  he  had  entered,  he 
realized  he  was  not  being  pursued.  The  same  moment  he 
heard  a  window  above  thrown  up  and  a  voice  shout: 


122  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"Get   that   fellow — he's   going   out   the   side!" 

So  they  had  discovered  the  window  and  were  on  his  trail ! 
Reggie  gave  one  look  at  the  pair  of  dark  figures  on 
guard. 

He  took  to  the  basement.  By  a  coal  hole  he  wormed 
his  way  into  the  area  in  rear  of  the  building.  He  sped 
across  the  side  yard. 

"There  he  goes !"  came  from  the  window  guard. 

Without  hesitation  Reggie  continued,  not  in  the  direc- 
tion of  quarters,  but  towards  town.  His  retreat  was  cut 
off. 

"Anyway,  I  can  get  in  through  the  main  gate  when 
the  big  crowd  goes  back  after  the  hop,"  he  told  himself. 

This  hope  was  frustrated  soon  after.  He  fell  in  with 
two  other  midshipmen  on  College  Avenue.  They  were 
walking  ahead  of  him  and  talking  in  tones  just  loud 
enough  for  him  to  hear. 

"No  chance  on  the  gate,'"  said  one.  "They've  got  word 
we're  out." 

"You  mean  they'll  be  watching  for  anyone  that's  not 
had  permission  to  take  hop  liberty?" 

"Yes;  Sam  told  me  there  was  an  extra  guard  on." 

"All  right,  we'll  go  over  the  wall." 

Reggie  slowed  down  and  dropped  astern.  "Me  too, 
I  guess,"  he  muttered. 

But  at  that  moment  even  the  wall  was  an  unhealthy 
spot  for  frenching  midshipmen. 

Grimes,  of  football  fame,  had  been  the  senior  mid- 
shipman on  duty  that  evening  when  the  alarm  came  that 
at  least  three  people  were  out  in  town  without  proper 
authority.  Grimes  himself  had  been  nearly  willing  to 
break  the  law  in  the  same  way  due  to  the  presence  in 


A  DESPERATE  ATTEMPT  123 

Annapolis  of  a  particular  young  lady.  Naturally  his 
humor  was  at  its  lowest  ebb. 

"Mr.  Grimes,  here's  a  little  job,"  announced  the  Duty 
Officer  about  ten  p.m.  "I  wish  you  to  picket  the  main 
wall  near  the  Superintendent's  office  and  see  if  we  can 
catch  some  of  these  young  scoundrels." 

Grimes  shivered  with  injured  dignity  as  he  thought 
of  a  personage  like  himself  being  selected  for  such  a 
vulgar  detail. 

"May  I  call  upon  some  of  the  fourth-classmen  as  as- 
sistants?" he  asked  without  enthusiasm. 

"I  don't  see  why  not." 

Which  of  course  placed  in  the  hands  of  Grimes  a  satis- 
fying means  of  taking  out  a  little  spite  upon  certain 
members  of  the  new  class  he  disliked. 

He  chose  ten.     Tom  Poor  headed  the  list. 

"Your  duty  is  to  walk  post  along  the  main  wall,"  he 
instructed  them.  "I  will  station  you  close  enough  to- 
gether to  make  it  impossible  for  a  man  to  get  through. 
I'll  stay  in  the  main  gate  office.  As  soon  as  one  of  you 
catches  anybody,  sing  out  for  help  and  the  others  will 
close  in.  And  send  word  to  me  at  once." 

Tom  had  the  blackest  and  muddiest  stretch.  Grimes 
saw  to  that.  Also  Grimes  took  pains  to  lurk  in  the  cover 
of  the  office  building  to  see  if  he  could  surprise  Tom  off 
his  guard.  To  be  able  to  report  him  for  neglect  of  duty 
would  be  a  pleasant  little  return  for  some  of  the  foot- 
ball prestige  Tom  had  robbed  him  of. 

It  happened  that  at  this  very  moment  Reggie  was  mak- 
ing his  way  back  to  the  reservation  by  a  devious  route. 
He  planned  to  reach  the  wall  at  a  well-shadowed  section. 

It  is  a  matter  of  note  that  a  wind  was  stirring  which 


124  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

kept  dry  overhanging  branches  of  the  trees  in  motion. 
This  caused  quite  enough  noise  to  hide  the  footsteps  of 
anyone  walking  in  soft  mud  on  the  far  side  of  the  wall. 

Reggie  carried  a  long  pole.  This  piece  of  gear  he 
had  lifted  from  the  backyard  of  a  nearby  dwelling.  It 
would  enable  him  to  gain  the  top  of  the  wall. 

Another  coincidence  unfortunately  occurred  just  here. 
Two  officers  emerged  from  a  town  house  facing  the  spot 
at  which  Reggie  was  making  his  ascent.  Their  presence 
disturbed  him. 

He  glanced  apprehensively  over  his  shoulder,  made  an 
extra  effort,  and  reached  the  top  of  the  wall.  Not  dar- 
ing to  hesitate  he  leaped. 

His  foot  struck  something  soft  almost  the  same  in- 
stant. His  fall  was  broken  by  the  body  of  someone  just 
beneath.  But  so  vigorous  had  been  the  takeoff  that  his 
momentum  carried  him  down  on  top  and  left  him  nearly 
straddling  the  man  beneath. 

He  heard  a  familiar  voice  give  a  stifled  exclamation. 
He  saw  the  glimmer  of  a  duty  belt.  Then  he  knew  what 
he  had  done.  Snatching  his  hat  from  the  ground,  he 
sprang  up  and  was  away  almost  before  the  alarm  could 
be  given. 

Tom  sat  up  half-dazed  by  the  unexpectedness  of  the 
assault.  Something  white  lay  on  the  ground  beside  him. 
It  was  a  piece  of  paper,  illegible  in  the  darkness.  Me- 
chanically he  picked  it  up  and  put  it  in  his  only  pocket,  the 
top  of  his  cap. 

A  rough  shake  of  his  shoulder  roused  him  to  action. 

"Aha,  let  him  break  through  you !  Thought  you  could 
get  away  with  it,  didn't  you  ?"  Grimes  coarse  voice  grated 
in  his  ear. 

"Why  no,  sir,"  said  Tom  honestly.     "Whoever  that 


A  DESPERATE  ATTEMPT  125 

was  landed  square  on  my  head  and  stunned  me  for  a 
moment." 

"None  of  your  guff/'  was  the  sneering  answer. 
"We'll  let  the  Duty  Officer  settle  that!" 

Shortly  afterwards  word  came  that  the  three  culprits 
had  been  caught  trying  to  get  in  the  main  gate.  Grimes, 
however,  was  determined  to  make  the  most  of  what  he 
considered  Tom's  perfidy. 

"There  was  another  one,  sir,"  he  told  the  Officer-in- 
Charge.  "He  came  over  right  alongside  Midshipman 
Poor.  Poor  pretended  the  man  jumped  on  him  and  let 
him  escape." 

To  Grimes'  joy  the  D.  O.  commanded  that  Poor  be 
brought  to  him  at  once. 

Tom,  who  had  been  told  to  wait  outside,  entered  and, 
removing  his  cap,  stood  at  attention.  A  white  paper 
fluttered  to  the  floor.  In  the  unfortunate  dispute  with 
Grimes  he  had  quite  forgotten  having  picked  it  up. 

He  leaned  over  to  regain  the  folded  sheet.  Instantly 
Grimes'  foot  shot  out. 

"Not  so  fast,  my  lad!     That  paper  looks  famil'^r." 

Grimes  unfolded  it  and  ran  his  eye  over  the  printed 
lines.  "Well,  sir!"  he  exclaimed  to  the  O,.  C.  "We 
have  one  criminal  if  we  haven't  another.  You  probably 
know  this  is  the  fourth  classman  who  has  just  been  put 
off  the  football  squad  for  unsatisfactory  marks  in  Phys- 
ics. Here,  sir,  we  find  in  his  possession  the  questions 
for  his  next  examination!" 

Tom's  look  was  one  of  utter  bewilderment.  Even 
the  O.  C.'s  expression  was  more  surprise  than  condem- 
nation. It  seemed  so  utterly  unbelievable  that  a  man 
of  Tom's  character  and  reputation  should  stoop  to  means 
so  low. 


126  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"Shall  I  put  him  under  arrest?"  inquired  the  smiling 
Grimes. 

The  D.  O.  shook  his  head.  "Just  a  minute  Mr.  Poor, 
haven't  you  anything  to  say  about  this?" 

Something  in  his  enemy's  pleasure  at  his  discomfiture 
brought  the  bulk  of  Tom's  courage  back. 

"I  can  say,  sir,  pretty  much  what  I  said  to  Mr.  Grimes. 
But  if  my  word  stands  for  nothing,  why  bother  with 
explanations  ?" 

"Don't  be  disrespectful,  Mr.  Poor,"  warned  the  D.  O. 
"This  business  looks  pretty  disgusting  and  I  want  to 
save  you  the  humiliation  of  it  if  there  happens  to  be 
any  mistake." 

"How  could  there  be  a  mistake,"  put  in  Grimes,  "when 
we  find  the  paper  right  on  him?  Why  you  don't  even 
need  my  report  about  his  neglect  of  duty." 

"Silence,  Mr.  Grimes.  Mr.  Poor,  what  have  you  got 
to  say  for  yourself?" 

Tom  set  his  jaw.  "I  was  standing  under  the  wall, 
sir,  just  where  I  had  been  posted  by  Mr.  Grimes.  I  had 
stopped  for  a  moment  to  tie  my  shoe.  Suddenly  a  man 
jumped  on  me  from  above.  I  was  knocked  down,  al- 
though I  think  the  man  was  much  lighter  than  I.  When 
I  rose  I  saw  that  paper  beside  me.  I  picked  it  up  and 
put  it  in  my  cap." 

Grimes  here  laid  back  his  head  and  chuckled.  The 
O.  C.  joined  in  for  a  moment;  then  turned  on  Tom  with 
almost  fierceness.  "You  young  crook!"  he  said;  "it 
takes  just  one  like  you  to  give  this  whole  place  a  bad 
name.  Go  to  your  room  at  once.  I'm  not  even  going 
to  put  you  under  arrest.  I  think  the  Commandant  can 
handle  your  case  by  wire  to  Washington.  You'll  be  a 
civilian  by  noon  tomorrow !" 


A  DESPERATE  ATTEMPT  127 

Tom  turned  and  walked  blindly  through  the  door. 
Just  outside  he  passed  Reggie  Van  Brunt.  He  didn't 
see  the  strained  look  on  Reggie's  face.  He  didn't  even 
see  Reggie. 

Back  in  his  room  he  turned  on  the  lights  and  hauled 
Ole  out  of  bed.  "Look  at  me,"  he  commanded.  "Look 
at  me!" 

"Handsome  as  ever,"  growled  Ole  sleepily. 

"Do  I  appear  insane?" 

"A  little  queer,"  said  Ole,  waking  up  a  bit  at  the 
strained  voice  of  his  roommate. 

"Well,  I  am.  I'm  crazy  as  a  bedbug.  I  see  things. 
I  hear  things.  I  am  going  to  be  a  civilian  tomorrow. 
Think  of  it — tomorrow  noon!  Ask  the  D.  O.  if  you 
don't  believe  me." 

By  this  time  Ole  was  thoroughly  aroused.  He  knew 
Tom  had  been  studying  long  after  taps  by  a  candle  hid- 
den under  his  bed.  No  doubt  the  strain  was  beginning 
to  tell.  He  smelled  Tom's  breath.  No,  he  hadn't  been 
drinking. 

"Turn  in,  old  man,"  he  advised.  "Well  talk  it  over, 
or  ask  the  doctor  about  it  in  the  morning." 

Silently  Tom  made  his  way  to  his  bedroom  and  threw 
himself  face  down  on  the  pillow.  The  burden  of  his 
sorrows  was  pretty  close  to  the  crushing  point. 

On  the  floor  below  Reggie  paced  up  and  down.  When 
Bob  Gary  offered  him  some  cake  he  mechanically  ac- 
cepted a  huge  piece,  then  forgot  to  eat  it.  Twice  he 
took  books  from  the  shelf.  Once  he  went  into  the  side 
room  and  closely  studied  his  face  in  the  shaving  mirror. 
Then  he  returned  to  his  pacing. 

"For  heaven's  sake!"  protested  Bob.  "What  kind  of 
nervous  itch  have  you  anyway?" 


128  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"By  noon  tomorrow — by  noon — "  was  the  inane  and 
broken  reply. 

Then  abruptly  Reggie  left  the  room. 

"Off  his  noodle,"  remarked  Bob  with  feeling. 

About  twenty  minutes  after  this  Ole  Hansen  heard  a 
knock  at  his  door,  followed  by  the  clank  of  a  sword. 
"Gosh,  what's  up  now?"  he  wondered,  and  rolled  over 
into  a  pretended  slumber. 

He  heard  the  steps  of  two  men  pass  into  Tom's  bed- 
room. 

"Poor?"    It  was  the  D.  O. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"I  have  come  up  here  to  apologize  to  you.  It  isn't 
often  the  privilege  of  an  officer  of  the  Navy  to  apologize 
to  an  Annapolis  plebe.  But  never  has  there  been  a 
situation  equal  to  the  present  one.  Do  you  accept  my 
apology  ?" 

"Why,  sir — yes,  sir — of  course,"  stammered  the  as- 
tounded Tom. 

"And  Mr.  Grimes  here  wishes  to  apologize  also. 
Don't  you,  Grimes?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  was  the  sulky  answer. 

"The  trouble  is,  Mr.  Poor,  that  we  can't  explain  just 
why  we  are  apologizing.  Rest  assured,  however,  that 
our  recent  discussion  is  cancelled.  You  will  hear  no 
more  about  the  charges  I  mistakenly  laid  against  you  to- 
night." 

But  Ole's  bewilderment  at  what  he  heard  was  more 
than  doubled  by  that  of  Bob  Gary  who  was  also  suffer- 
ing from  an  attack  of  insanity  in  his  family. 

Reggie  had  appeared  again  after  a  short  absence.  He 
looked  as  if  he  had  been  drawn  through  a  keyhole.  He 
came  up  to  Bob  and  made  a  short  speech: 


A  DESPERATE  ATTEMPT  129 

"I'm  a  fool,"  he  said.  "A  great  towering  imbecile  of 
a  fool.  And  yet — " 

"Oh,"  said  Bob,  "it's  your  plan  to  help  Poor  that's  on 
your  mind?" 

"To  help  Poor,"  echoed  Reggie.  "No,  I  didn't  help 
him.  I  almost  finished  him.  I  almost  finished  myself. 
Yet  I  think  I  did  help  myself — when  I  told  Tern  the 
whole  story." 

"You  got  caught?" 

"No.     I  surrendered." 

"But  what  for?    What  could  you  get  out  of  that?" 

"Clear  conscience — about  all  I  can  see,"  faltered  Reg- 
gie. "Only  it  cost  me  a  hundred  and  fifty  demerits: 
third  conduct  grade  till  the  end  of  the  year!" 

Reggie  had  squealed  again,  but  not  on  Tom.  This 
time  he  squealed  on  himself — to  save  Tom. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

NEARING  THE  END 

Two  plebes  sat  by  the  window  talking,  their  feet  on 
the  radiator,  chairs  tilted  back.  Though  it  was  study 
hour,  one  strummed  softly  on  a  banjo.  From  time  to 
time  the  other  took  up  the  refrain  in  a  low  whistle. 

"Man,  I  can't  study  when  the  Bay  looks  like  this." 

"Me  either." 

"Some  month,  May  is." 

"Yea  Bo." 

"With  baseball  and  crew  and  sailing  and  hikes." 

"And  the  cruise;  and  the  next  year  the  hops." 

"And  Sundays  up  the  river." 

"Or  down  to  the  Point." 

"How's  your  tennis?" 

"Better.     Cleaned  up  Van  Brunt  yesterday." 

"That  boob?" 

"Some  (player  though.     Got  the  build  for  it.** 

"About  all  he  does,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes;  the  stuck-up  bird  won't  play  around  with  the 
gang." 

"Course  not.  Think's  he's  a  peg  higher  than  most 
of  us." 

"Ha!    Remember  when  Tom  Poor  took  him  down?" 

"Sure;  but  he  evened  up  I  heard  later.  Got  himself 
into  a  fix  trying  to  boost  Poor  up  on  Skinny." 

"And  he  didn't  have  the  brains  to  get  away  with  it." 

"There's  Poor  now.     Some  build  he's  got." 

130 


NEARING  THE  END  131 

"Gosh  yes!    Wish  I  had  his  beef." 

"What  would  you  do  with  it?'" 

"Clean  you  out  for  one!" 

"By  the  way,  what'd  you  make  on  that  last  math 
exam  ?" 

"Busted  cold !  Got  to  pull  a  three  or  over  this  month 
to  be  sat.  for  the  term." 

"No  worse  than  I  am  in  Dago.  Spanish  always  did 
get  the  best  of  me." 

"French  is  what  I  like." 

"Can  that  stuff!  Now  when  it  comes  to  seamanship 
you're  talking.  Real  business !  Take  mooring  ship. 
The  book  gives  you  what  you  need  to  begin.  Then  you 
go  out  and  do  the  real  thing!" 

"Righto!  That's  what  I  hate  about  all  this  math  and 
other  theoretical  stuff.  Don't  mean  anything." 

"Humph!  Do  you  know  our  math  prof  last  month 
gave  us  a  spiel  on  that  very  point?  Said  we'd  wake  up 
one  morning  about  the  middle  of  next  year  and  find  out 
what  it  was  all  about." 

"Wish  I'd  wake  up  next  Thursday  before  that  exam." 

"Said  we'd  see  how  all  these  formulae  fit  into  a  battle- 
ship like  so  many  nuts  and  bolts." 

"Oh,  gee!     Let's  talk  about  something  pleasant." 

"All  right,  how  about  a  canoe  party  next  Saturday?" 

"Can't.     Got  an  aunt  coming  down." 

"That's  tough." 

"Not  altogether.  She  always  brings  a  couple  of 
cakes.  Whole  turkey  last  time.  And  five  pounds  of 
candy." 

"What's  the  big  idea?  You  must  have  an  awful 
drag." 

"Not    quite.     It's    Captain    Waverly.     Old    Wave's 


i32  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

pretty  soft  on  her.  She  pretends  to  give  him  the  boot, 
and  that  she's  just  come  down  here  to  see  her  poor  little 
plebe  nephew.  Only  I  notice  the  poor  little  plebe  always 
passes  Cap.  Wave  when  the  poor  little  plebe's  liberty 
is  up." 

"Like  a  woman." 

"Sure.     Queer  creatures." 

"Holy  Smoke!  Can't  you  talk  about  anything  pleas- 
ant?" 

"Hang  it  all,  I  spooned  on  the  picnic  idea.  It's  got 
to  be  Saturday  after  the  aunt,  that's  all." 

"Where'll  we  go  ?" 

"How  about  that  sandspit  above  the  big  bend?" 

"Corking!  That's  where  the  old  road  comes  in. 
Chance  at  that  fellow's  cherries  too." 

"Not  for  mine.  I've  got  just  five  demerits  to  run  on 
for  the  rest  of  the  year." 

"I'll  do  it.  I  got  fifty  to  get  before  they  boost  me 
on  to  the  conduct  grade." 

"No  joke  to  miss  liberty  June  Week — graduation,  West 
Point  game  and  all." 

"Right  you  are.  How'd  you  run  so  many  this 
month?" 

"Beale's  fault.  Invented  that  fool  electric  stove. 
Said  we  could  cook  and  blow  the  smell  out  of  the  win- 
dow with  an  electric  fan." 

"That's  what  some  of  the  first-class  crowd  down  my 
way  are  doing." 

"Well,  as  an  electrical  engineer  Beale's  a  fizzle." 

"Wouldn't  cook?" 

"Sure,  flap-jacks  and  sausages  and  all  sorts  of  things." 

"Get  caught?" 

"Should  say  so.     The  O.  C.  stuck  his  head  in  the  first 


NEARING  THE  END  133 

night.  The  big  fan  we'd  got  was  sitting  on  the  table 
pumping  air  through  the  room  to  beat  sixty.  Just  then 
the  fuse  blew  and  the  O.  C.  got  all  mixed  up  in  the  stove 
and  the  fan  and  the  sausages.  Cost  him  eight  dollars 
and  a  half  to  get  the  uniform  ungreased,  the  tailor  told 
me." 

"And  cost  you  twenty-five  demerits?" 

"Fifty  I" 

"Crickets !" 

"For  heaven's  sake  can't  you  get  on  something  pleas- 
anter  than  aunts  and  demerits?" 

"Your  depressing  influence,  I  guess." 

"Well,  bounce  back  to  the  picnic." 

"Bounce  yourself.     What'll  we  eat?" 

"Will  you  stay  the  whole  day?" 

"Sure  thing.     How  about  a  chicken?" 

"Right!  And  a  pot  of  that  apple  butter  the  canteen's 
got." 

"Pie  too.     Wonderful  apple   ones  there   last  week." 

"Something  in  the  cake  line?" 

"Here,  something  in  the  substantial  line  I'd  say  first." 

"All  right.  Dozen  ham  sandwiches — couple  of  cans  of 
beans." 

"Good.  Take  the  coffeepot,  too.  I  can  always  get 
away  with  twice  as  much  when  there's  something  to  wash 
it  down." 

"You  talk  like  an  old  drunk." 

"Gee,  that  reminds  me.  The  Aunt  always  carries  a 
medicine  flask  of  whiskey  with  her.  I'll  try  to  hook  it. 
Ever  taste  the  stuff?" 

"Once  or  twice.     Pretty  rotten,  I  think." 

"Not  if  you  hold  your  breath.  And  it  makes  the  party 
perk  up  so." 


134  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"None  for  me,  thank  you." 

"All  right,  Mr.  Sunday-School." 

"That  reminds  me,  I  promised  the  Chaplain  I'd  see 
him  about  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  meeting  tomorrow." 

"There  you  go  again  with  your  gloom." 

"All  right — back  to  the  food  business.  How  about  a 
quart  of  peanuts  ?" 

"And  a  few  potatoes  for  roasting.     Say — " 

"Gosh !  the  D.  O." 

"Quick,  douse  the  banjo !" 

A  heavy  knock  thudded  on  the  door.  The  door  opened. 
Entered  the  Duty  Officer.  The  two  plebes  stood  at  atten- 
tion. 

"Good  morning,  gentlemen,  I  see  you  don't  have  to 
study  in  this  room.  Both  of  you  loafing.  One  of  you 
playing  the  banjo  from  -what  I  heard." 

The  D.  O.  turned  to  his  duty  midshipman  alongside. 

"Midshipman  Smith,  playing  musical  instrument  during 
study  hours.  Midshipman  Riley,  wearing  non-regulation 
sweater." 

The  officer  and  his  companion  left. 

"Golly!"  from  one  plebe.  "Five  demerits.  That  fixes 
me!" 

"Fifty's  mine,"  groaned  the  other.  "Third  conduct 
grade  rest  of  the  year." 

"Anyway — " 

"Anyway  what?" 

"We  can  eat  the  grub  in  here." 

"The  heck  we  can !  I  don't  hold  half  indoors  what  I 
do  out!" 


CHAPTER  XIV 

EUROPE ! 

"AND  then  Tom,  single-handed,  kidnapped  forty-eight 
French  midshipmen !  I  was  there  when  the  French  Ad- 
miral heard  about  it.  I  though  he'd  choke!" 

Ole  Hansen  laid  his  head  back  and  roared.  The  eager 
group  around  him  pressed  closer  for  continuation  of  the 
yarn. 

It  is  better,  though,  to  tell  the  crazy  story  from  its 
beginning. 

First  of  all,  plebe  year  finally  came  to  an  end.  The 
dreadful  winter's  grind  at  last  culminated  in  a  series  of 
head-splitting  examinations,  a  hectic  carnival  of  June 
Week  drills,  and  the  grand  magnificence  of  the  Farewell 
Ball. 

On  June  tenth  there  appeared  in  the  roads  off  Annapolis 
a  squadron  of  battleships.  These  vessels  had  been  desig- 
nated to  take  the  'Brigade  of  midshipmen  on  their  annual 
three-months'  summer  cruise. 

Great  confusion  prevailed  in  quarters  on  the  day  of 
embarkation.  Mountainous  piles  of  laundry  bags  full  of 
clothing  lined  the  sea-wall.  There  was  a  continual  dash- 
ing back  and  forth,  an  unending  series  of  shouts  and 
cheers. 

Happiest  of  all  were  the  plebes:  they  were  no  longer 
plebes.  At  the  moment  of  exit  from  the  graduation  hall 
they  became  officially  the  new  third  class,  or  "youngsters." 

135 


136  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

And  a  youngster  rates  nearly  as  much  as  any  upperclass- 
man. 

At  last,  as  in  all  military  movements,  order  came  out 
of  chaos  and  the  great  gray  men-of-war  got  under  way, 
their  destination  Europe. 

"Oh  Boy!"  exclaimed  Tom  the  third  day  out.  "Ain't 
this  the  life?" 

"I'm  not  so  sure  yet,"  said  Ole,  who  had  not  Tom's 
previous  sea  experience  to  show  him  all  the  little  incon- 
veniences of  ship  life  were  trifling  as  compared  with  the 
freedom  of  it. 

The  fourteen  days  across  passed  swiftly  enough.  Mid- 
shipmen were  detailed  to  the  engine  and  dynamo  rooms,  to 
lookout  and  bridge  stations,  and  all  the  other  parts  of  the 
ship.  Changes  were  made  frequently  so  that  all  might 
have  the  fullest  experience. 

Daily  drills  were  had  at  the  guns,  in  seamanship,  and 
other  professional  subjects.  Though  there  was  a  certain 
amount  of  book  work,  it  could  not  be  likened  to  the  un- 
ending lessons  and  recitations  that  made  the  winter 
months  a  nightmare  to  many  midshipmen. 

On  the  fifteenth  morning,  there  was  a  cry  from  the 
foremost  lookout. 

"Land  ho!" 

"Where  away?"  from  the  bridge. 

"Broad  on  the  starboard  bow,  sir!" 

Reveille  had  just  gone.  In  the  gray  dawn  a  looming 
mass  ahead  marked  the  point  where  beautiful  France  rose 
out  of  the  sea. 

The  squadron's  rails  were  white  with  excited  midship- 
men. Thrill  of  new  land  rouses  something  in  a  man's 
soul  like  nothing  else  in  life. 

The  port  was  Cherbourg.     A  roaring  gun  salute  was  ex- 


EUROPE!  137 

changed  with  the  black  fortress.  Launches  darted  back 
and  forth  carrying  those  upon  whom  fell  the  duty  of  mak- 
ing official  visits. 

Just  before  lunch,  the  Commanding  Officer  sent  for 
Tom. 

"Mr.  Poor,  I  understand  from  Lieutenant  Ruggles  that 
you  were  in  the  Fleet  before  you  entered  Annapolis,  and 
so  have  had  some  experience  in  foreign  parts." 

"Yes,  sir;  but  I  have  never  been  here  before." 

"That's  all  right.  I  want  you  to  help  me  out  on  a 
party  the  American  Consul  is  giving  here  for  the  French 
and  American  Midshipmen.  The  French  training  ship 
is  due  here  tomorrow." 

After  lunch  Tom  was  sent  in  by  special  boat  to  get 
his  instructions  from  the  Consul. 

He  was  fascinated  by  the  old  French  town  with  its 
queer  winding  streets,  all  so  roughly  paved  with  cobble- 
stones. Everywhere  he  went  he  was  an  object  of  interest 
to  the  foreigners.  Their  curious  glances  he  returned  by 
glances  equally  interested. 

One  pretty  French  girl  shouted:  "Vive  I 'American !" 

"You  bet  your  boots,  Sweetheart!"  was  Tom's  quick 
and  smiling  retort. 

Mr.  Weatherill,  the  Consul,  greeted  Tom  with  the  en- 
thusiasm one  countryman  always  has  for  another  when 
met  upon  foreign  soil. 

"It's  a  great  treat,  Mr.  Poor,  to  have  you  lads  with  us 
this  week." 

"We're  just  as  glad  to  be  here,  sir." 

"The  French  like  it,  too.  You  young  gentlemen  have 
the  reputation  of  being  the  finest  of  your  kind  in  the 
world.  That  has  to  do  with  what  I  have  asked  you  here 
for." 


I38  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

He  seated  Tom  in  a  little  window  overlooking  the 
street. 

"Over  there,"  he  continued  pointing  to  a  large  stone 
building,  "is  the  hall  in  which  I  am  going  to  give  a  real 
American  party  to  the  American  and  French  midshipmen. 
I  am  sorry  to  say  that  only  about  a  hundred  of  the 
Americans  will  be  able  to  come.  With  half  that  many 
French  middies  from  the  cruiser  L'Aiglon  the  hall  will  be 
crowded." 

Mr.  Weatherill  drew  a  slip  of  paper  from  his  pocket. 

"Here  is  a  chart  of  the  hall.  The  party  is  to  be  held 
on  the  first  floor.  On  the  right  will  sit  the  Americans. 
On  the  left  will  be  the  French.  On  the  low  platform  in 
front  will  stand  the  Christmas  tree  I  have  arranged  for." 

Tom  smiled  at  the  mention  of  Christmas  in  the  middle 
of  June. 

"I  know  it's  out  of  date,"  laughed  the  Consul.  "But 
I  thought  it  was  a  nice  way  to  distribute  some  small  gifts. 
At  the  signal  you  all  may  come  up  and  get  the  packages 
off  the  tree.  Afterwards  there  will  be  refreshments." 

From  the  Consul's  house  Tom  went  to  the  French 
cruiser  with  a  note  to  her  Captain.  He  was  received  with 
sideboys  and  a  gracious  salute  from  the  officer-of-the- 
deck. 

Tom  presented  his  note  of  introduction.  Although  he 
had  had  a  year  of  French  in  his  first  winter  at  Annapolis, 
he  was  a  little  shy  at  trying  it  out. 

"Good  evening,  my  dear  young  man,"  was  the  Captain's 
profuse  welcome  in  excellent  English.  "And  I  under- 
stand you  to  be  the — er — what  you  call  him  ?  Oh  yes,  the 
chaperon  for  our  boys  this  evening — tonight  at  the  Con- 
sul's magnificent  entertainment." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Tom.     "I  have  been  detailed  to  sit  with 


HE  WAS  FASCINATED  BY  THE  OLD   FBENCH   TOWN. 


EUROPE!  139 

your  midshipmen  and  explain  to  them  what  to  do  as  the 
party  goes  on." 

"It  is  fine !  It  is  splendid,  my  friend !  And  such  kind- 
ness shall  not  be  ever  forgotten.  Now  will  you  permit  me 
to  give  you  a  small  glass  of  wine?" 

"I'm  sorry,  sir,"  said  Tom  a  little  hastily,  "but  I  must 
hurry  back  to  my  Captain  and  tell  him  the  result  of  my 
visit  with  you." 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  the  Frenchman  with  a  wink.  And, 
putting  his  finger  up,  he  said,  "I  understand  the  point  with 
perfection.  It  is  that  M'sieur  dare  not  blow  his  lovely 
breath  in  the  Capitaine's  face  upon  hees  return." 

That  night  the  hundred  American  midshipmen  selected 
to  attend  the  Consul's  entertainment  marched  directly  to 
the  hall.  Tom  remained  on  the  dock  to  meet  the  French 
party. 

When  they  arrived,  he  introduced  himself  to  the  senior 
middy  in  charge.  Unfortunately,  that  individual  was  un- 
able to  understand  English.  Tom  was  forced  to  rely  on 
his  rather  limited  knowledge  of  the  French  language. 

For  a  moment  he  smiled  to  himself  as  he  contemplated 
the  situation.  His  lessons  the  previous  winter  had  con- 
sisted largely  of  fables  in  French,  not  unlike  the  kind  of 
stories  he  recalled  were  in  the  reader  of  his  early  school 
days;  certainly  just  as  childish  and  uninteresting.  He 
wondered  what  the  lively  young  Frenchmen  would  think 
if  he  started  to  declaim  one  of  the  fables  for  their  benefit ! 

Judging  from  the  convulsions  of  merriment  that  met 
his  painful  attempts  to  argue  with  the  leader,  even  a  fable 
would  have  amused  them. 

"We  go  now  to  hall,"  said  Tom,  after  struggling  through 
his  memory  for  the  words. 

"But  the  officer  that  is  to  meet  us  ?" 


i4o  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"No  officer  meet  you.  I  meet  you,"  said  Tom  awk- 
wardly. 

"You  are  not  officer." 

"No.     But  I  meet  you.     I  take  you  to  the  hall." 

Finally,  the  Frenchman  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
beckoned  his  followers  to  come. 

"You  know  what  to  do  on  arrival?"  inquired  Tom  after 
a  considerable  pause,  during  which  he  was  occupied  try- 
ing to  remember  the  expression  for  Christmas  tree. 

"No,  my  friend.  But  I  suppose  we  eat.  The  Ameri- 
cans always  eat." 

"You  bet  your  sweet  life  we  do,  Froggie !"  shot  Tom  in 
English. 

"Not  so  fast.  And  speak  the  French,  my  friend,"  re- 
turned the  other. 

"I  said  you  sit  where  I  show  you  after  we  arrive." 

"Yes.    And  then  it  is  what?" 

"You  wait  signal.  I  give  signal.  Then  all  go  to  the 
tree  and  get  gifts  from  the  branches." 

The  Frenchman  stopped,  his  eyes  bulging.  "You  say 
we  all  climb  trees  for  the  party?  And  we  have  our  best 
uniforms  on!" 

"No,"  laughed  Tom,  evidently  there  was  something 
wrong  with  his  French  grammar.  He  tried  again,  very 
slowly.  By  this  time  the  whole  crowd  had  clustered 
around  him. 

His  second  attempt  at  explaining  the  Christmas  tree 
program  was  even  less  successful  than  the  first. 

"We  will  not  go  then !"  exclaimed  the  Frenchman.  "It 
is  wrong  that  we  should  be  asked  to  pull  down  trees  at 
this  time  of  night.  Also  it  is  against  the  law.  The 
mayor  will  arrest  us!" 


EUROPE!  141 

Tom  sighed.  "It  is  not  outdoors.  It  is  all  in  the  hall," 
he  said. 

"Ah,  that  is  better.  But  the  Americans  are  rough.  I 
am  not  sure  all  of  us  can  have  the  courage  to  face  it," 
replied  the  leader. 

He  turned  and  in  rapid  language  made  a  little  speech 
to  the  party.  There  ensued  a  heated  dispute  for  some 
minutes,  followed  by  the  departure  of  several  for  the  dock. 

"Holy  smoke !"  thought  Tom.  "I've  gummed  the  game 
now.  No  telling  what  they  think  I've  said  to  them. 
And  here  part  have  lost  their  nerve  and  gone  home!" 

Afraid  of  getting  himself  into  deeper  water,  he  waited 
silently  for  the  discussion  to  stop.  After  a  few  minutes 
the  leader  turned  with  a  grim  look  and  motioned  Tom  to 
proceed. 

"Gosh!"  said  Tom  to  himself.  "Looks  as  if  he  were 
going  into  battle  instead  of  to  a  party." 

The  Americans  rose  and  shouted  a  noisy  welcome  when 
Tom  and  his  party  entered.  He  managed  to  get  them 
to  their  side  of  the  hall  before  a  return  cheer  was  given. 
Immediately  afterward,  the  leader  uttered  a  few  words  to 
his  men  in  a  tense  low  voice. 

Tom  looked  about  him  for  the  Consul.  If  he  could 
only  get  an  interpreter,  he  might  find  out  what  fool  ideas 
had  been  placed  in  the  foreign  midshipmen's  heads  by  his 
perfectly  well  meant  efforts  to  instruct  them  in  their  own 
tongue. 

But  Mr.  Weatherill  was  at  once  engaged  in  making  a 
speech  of  welcome.  He  intermingled  his  remarks  in 
both  languages  and  cleverly  brought  out  the  points  of 
several  jokes  so  that  both  sides  were  able  to  understand. 

"And  finally,"  he  concluded,  "let  me  say  that  the  friend- 


J42  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

ships  which  are  starting  here  tonight  will,  I  feel,  be  the 
basis  of  a  stronger  future  bond  between  the  two  great 
countries  you  young  officers  represent." 

A  deafening  applause  met  this  expression  of  inter- 
national good  will. 

Mr.  Weatherill  waited  until  the  noise  had  subsided. 
Then,  holding  out  both  arms,  he  announced  in  loud  tones : 
"The  tree,  my  friends,  the  tree !" 

It  was  the  signal.  Tom  turned  to  the  leader  of  his 
flock.  "The  signal,"  said  Tom,  "the  tree !" 

The  Frenchman  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"En  avant,  mes  enfants!"  he  cried. 

Instantly  his  fifty  countrymen  were  up.  Chairs  were 
hurled  to  the  floor.  Some  fell.  Tom  himself  was  thrust 
roughly  to  one  side  in  the  mad  scramble. 

The  Americans  who  had  started  to  rise  and  approach 
the  tree  sank  back  in  their  seats  bewildered. 

Straight  for  the  tree  dashed  the  foreigners.  They 
cheered  loudly  as  they  ran.  They  swept  it  from  its 
moorings.  Borne  upon  their  shoulders,  its  green  gift- 
laden  branches  brushed  the  ceiling. 

Before  Tom  could  sing  out  "Stop  them!"  they  had 
reached  the  window — a  great  double  window  which  opened 
level  with  the  street. 

"Stop !"  screamed  Tom.  But  his  voice  was  drowned  in 
the  clatter  of  broken  glass  as  the  tree's  trunk  crashed 
through  the  framework  into  the  open  air. 

Like  a  flash  of  terrible  truth  he  realized  the  cause 
of  the  French  midshipmen's  mad  behaviour :  they  had 
understood  him  to  say  that,  on  signal,  both  nationalities 
were  to  rush  forward  and  seize  their  presents  from  the 
tree.  Tom's  violent  gestures,  made  in  his  effort  to  im- 
press his  meaning  upon  them,  had  been  interpreted  as  a 


EUROPE!  143 

description  of  the  struggle.  And  now  he  recalled  that 
when  one  had  asked  him  something  about  football  he  had 
said  "yes."  He  thought  he  was  being  questioned  as  to 
whether  he  played  or  not. 

In  reality  the  French  leader  had  asked  him  whether 
the  idea  of  getting  the  gifts  off  the  tree  was  not  about 
the  same  as  the  American  football  game! 

Naturally  when  Tom  gave  back  an  enthusiastic  "yes" 
the  Frenchman  coached  his  faithful  followers  to  make 
the  best  showing  they  could.  On  arrival  he  pointed  out 
the  window.  When  the  signal  was  given,  he  overcame 
his  disadvantage  of  smaller  numbers  by  the  strategic  plan 
of  simply  rushing  the  tree  out  the  window  before  the 
Americans  could  reach  it. 

Tom's  loud  cry  and  the  fact  that  he  started  after  the 
fleeing  Frenchmen  was  at  once  taken  as  a  clever  move  of 
leadership.  With  instant  energy  the  Americans  roused 
into  vigorous  action.  On  the  heels  of  the  barbarians — 
so  they  now  seemed — and  not  fifty  yards  behind,  tore  the 
Annapolis  men. 

Luckily  Tom  reached  the  window  first.  But  his  shouts 
of  protest  were  caught  in  the  general  tumult  only  as  words 
of  encouragement. 

By  a  great  burst  of  speed  he  finally  managed  to  place 
himself  at  the  head  of  the  galloping  column. 

"Stop !"  he  roared.  "It's  a  mistake  I  tell  you !  A 
terrible  mistake!" 

A  man  ran  into  him  and  pushed  him  angrily  out  of  the 
way. 

"Traitor!"  bawled  the  youngster. 

For  a  moment  Tom  also  lost  his  head.  With  a  vicious 
blow  on  the  jaw  he  knocked  the  midshipman  down. 

This  incident  caught  the  wild  mob's  attention  for  a 


144  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

moment  and  enabled  Ole  Hansen  to  stop  them.  He  knew 
Tom  well  enough  to  realize  something  was  wrong. 

Tom  sprang  to  his  side  and  panted  out  an  order.  "Hold 
them  for  two  minutes !"  he  cried.  "It's  a  terrible  misun- 
derstanding. I'll  come  back  and  explain." 

He  then  turned  and  dashed  after  the  fleeing  French- 
men. Over  his  shoulder  he  saw  Ole  haranguing  the  tem- 
pestuous and  angry  Americans. 

Gifts  lying  scattered  along  the  street  provided  an 
excellent  trail.  Tom  overtook  the  triumphal  crowd  just 
around  the  corner  where  they  were  stripping  the  ruined 
tree. 

"Quick!"  he  shouted.  "They're  coming!  They're 
coming!  They're  terribly  angry — they  will  murder  you! 
Quick — follow  me  and  I  will  explain." 

The  desperation  in  Tom's  voice  instantly  caught  the 
impressionable  ear  of  the  French  boys.  They  followed 
him  at  a  run. 

Tom  had  no  idea  where  he  was  going.  His  scheme  was 
simply  to  avoid  the  massacre  sure  to  take  place  if  the 
enraged  American  midshipmen  overtook  the  Frenchmen. 
If  he  could  dispose  of  the  latter  long  enough  to  explain 
matters  to  his  own  ship-mates  he  felt  a  peaceful  reunion 
were  possible.  Otherwise  how  could  he  ever  account  for 
the  dreadful  outcome  of  Mr.  Weatherill's  happy  plans  ? 

"Here  we  are !"  he  cried,  as  they  came  to  a  small  build- 
ing. Its  door  stood  open.  Inside  was  dark,  but  to  all 
appearances  it  must  have  been  some  sort  of  warehouse. 

The  Frenchmen  crowded  in.  Tom  slammed  the  door 
shut,  and  to  be  on  the  safe  side,  snapped  the  huge  pad- 
lock which  hung  open  upon  its  hasp. 

When  he  reached  the  spot  where  he  had  last  seen  Ole 
and  the  Americans,  the  whole  crowd  had  disappeared. 


EUROPE!  145 

Evidently  Ole's  argument  had  been  successful  in  convinc- 
ing the  Americans  they  had  best  return  to  the  hall. 

Tom  hesitated.  Had  he  better  release  the  Frenchmen 
at  once  ?  Or  would  it  be  better  to  return  to  the  hall  first 
and  make  sure  his  own  crowd  had  calmed  down?  It 
was  a  difficult  question ;  and  there  was  the  additional  anx- 
iety of  not  knowing  what  sort  of  place  it  was  he  had  so 
impulsively  locked  the  former  in. 

Fate  decided  for  him.  A  carriage  turned  the  corner 
and  came  towards  him.  It  stopped. 

"Mr.  Poor,  isn't  that  you  ?"  sung  out  a  familiar  voice. 

"Yes,  Captain."  It  was  the  Skipper  of  Tom's  ship,  the 
Connecticut! 

"Get  in,"  commanded  the  Captain.  "I  am  on  my  way  to 
a  little  reception  at  the  house  of  the  wife  of  the  L'Aig- 
lon's  -Commanding  Officer.  He  says  he  met  you  today  and 
asked  me  to  bring  you  along  if  I  could." 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  obey. 

Once  more  Tom  received  the  gracious  advances  of  the 
French  Captain. 

"Ah,  M'sieur  Poor,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "I  theenk 
you  are  the  personification  of  the  youth  of  the  new  world." 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Tom  a  little  vaguely.  He  could  not 
rid  his  mind  of  the  nightmare  that  beset  him.  He  had 
kidnapped  and  made  prisoners  half  a  hundred  young 
Frenchmen.  What  dreadful  penalty  would  be  his  when 
the  crime  was  discovered? 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  the  hostess  became  more 
and  more  ill  at  ease.  Although  there  were  several  other 
officers  as  guests  besides  Tom  and  his  Captain,  she  seemed 
to  be  impatiently  waiting  for  someone  else. 

She  called  the  American  Captain  to  her  side  and  whis- 
pered in  his  ear.  Immediately  he  came  over  to  Tom. 


146  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"Mr.  Poor,  Madame  Grielle  says  that  she  invited  a 
number  of  the  French  midshipmen  here  this  evening. 
She  understands  from  her  husband  that  they  went  to  the 
Consul's  party  first,  but  with  orders  to  leave  early  and 
come  here.  Do  you  know  anything  about  them  ?" 

"Yes — no,  sir,"  stammered  Tom.  "I  mean,  sir,  they 
were  there.  I  saw  them.  But  I  don't  know  whether  they 
are  on  their  way  here  or  not." 

Tom's  obvious  confusion  aroused  the  Captain's  sus- 
picions. 

"Don't  beat  about  the  bush,  Mr.  Poor,"  said  he  sternly. 

At  once  Tom  realized  there  was  nothing  to  be  gained 
by  keeping  his  secret. 

"If  you  will  hear  my  story,  sir,"  he  said  after  a  mo- 
ment, "I  think  you  will  understand." 

Before  he  could  go  further  there  came  a  sudden  con- 
fusion at  the  door.  At  the  same  instant  a  strong  odor  of 
dead  fish  pervaded  the  room. 

"Heaven's!"  exclaimed  the  Captain  under  his  breath. 
"And  I  had  fish  for  dinner!" 

To  Tom's  dismay  a  dozen  of  the  French  midshipmen 
he  had  so  lately  imprisoned  filed  nervously  into  the  room. 
They  had  lost  their  customary  neatness.  Some  had 
smudged  faces ;  others  had  mussed  hair  and  soiled  collars. 
All  bore  the  marks  of  their  recent  experience  in  some 
form  or  another. 

And  each  smelted  frightfully  of  fish! 

Tom  looked  about  for  some  means  of  escape.  But,  be- 
fore he  could  move,  the  surprised  silence  in  the  room  at 
the  strange  appearance  of  the  motley  arrivals  gave  way  to 
a  voluble  flood  of  angry  questions  and  replies.  At  once 
the  leader  of  the  midshipmen  stepped  forward.  He 
pointed  his  finger  at  Tom.  "There  is  the  pig !"  he  cried. 


EUROPE!  147 

As  if  by  Providence,  Mr.  Weatherill  turned  up  the  next 
moment.  He  understood  perfectly  not  only  the  French 
language  but  the  people.  With  the  utmost  gravity  he 
heard  the  French  midshipman's  story. 

At  its  conclusion  he  turned  to  the  American  captain. 
"It's  quite  clear  sir,"  he  said  in  French,  "that  these  boys 
have  been  the  victims  of  an  unfortunate  misunderstand- 
ing. It  is,  indeed,  outrageous  and  quite  unnecessary  for 
Mr.  Poor  to  have  locked  them  up  in  the  fishhouse.  But 
they  are  magnanimous.  They  will  forgive,  provided  an 
apology  is  presented." 

Tom's  captain  bowed  an  acknowledgment  of  the  hint. 
Turning  to  Tom  he  said :  "Mr.  Poor,  you  have  unwittingly 
damaged  the  success  of  our  visit  in  this  port.  No  official 
course  is  open  to  me  to  express  my  disapproval  of  your 
failure  to  execute  a  truly  diplomatic  mission.  Till  we 
sail  you  will  be  restricted  to  the  ship.  Now  please  apol- 
ogize to  those  present." 

Tom  did  so  in  stumbling  French. 

As  he  turned  to  go  Captain  Grielle  called  him  back. 
"No,  no,  my  dear  young  friend,"  he  said  in  a  voice  loud 
enough  for  all  present  to  hear.  "Do  not  so  melancholy 
be.  I  theenk — "  he  looked  over  the  top  of  his  glasses  at 
his  own  boys — "that  if  there  has  been  any  mistake  in  di- 
plomacy, it  was  on  the  part  of  those  who  first  used  force." 

He  faced  about  to  his  wife. 

"Open  the  windows,  my  dear,"  he  continued,  "I  am 
about  to  laugh.  And  when  I  do  I  shall  the  glass  break — 
so  heartily  shall  it  be."  He  chuckled  and  wiped  his  eyes. 
"The  f eesh-house — oh !  the  feesh-house  of  all  places !"  he 
cried,  and  went  off  into  a  gale  of  real  sea-going  mirth 
that  nearly  shook  the  chandelier  from  the  ceiling. 


CHAPTER  XV 

MAN  OVERBOARD ! 

DURING  the  Squadron's  stay  in  Cherbourg,  leave  was 
granted  many  midshipmen  to  visit  Paris.  Chaplains  of 
the  various  ships  organized  parties  with  proper  guides. 
This  enabled  all  to  see  the  places  of  greatest  interest  with 
the  least  expenditure  of  time  and  money. 

"Glad  to  get  back,  though,"  was  Bob  Gary's  tired  com- 
ment the  morning  after  his  week  in  the  famous  capital. 
"Museums  and  art  galleries  all  day  and  the  theatre  every 
night.  Exciting,  all  right;  but  the  old  ship  seems  pretty 
good  after  it's  all  over." 

"Right !"  agreed  Ole  Hansen.  "A  Navy  man  certainly 
is  in  luck  in  being  able  to  travel  and  take  his  home  around 
the  world  with  him." 

"I  should  say  so !"  echoed  Bob.  "After  a  few  days  of 
hotel  grub  and  worrying  about  where  to  go  and  what  to 
do  next,  a  good  deck  and  our  busy  routine  certainly  hit 
the  spot." 

Sharp  bugle  notes  broke  into  the  conversation. 

"All  hands  up  anchor !"  bawled  the  Boatswain's  Mate. 
The  cry  was  immediately  taken  up  by  mates  of  divisions, 
and  their  hoarse  voices  filled  the  'tween-deck  spaces  until 
men  were  skurrying  from  every  nook  and  corner  of  the 
great  man-of-war. 

"Where  are  you  stationed  now  ?"  asked  Bob  as  the  two 
parted. 

148 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  149 

"Starboard  life-boat  crew,"  sung  out  Ole  over  his 
shoulder. 

"I'm  port — beat  you  to  it  this  afternoon!"  was  the 
prompt  reply. 

Bob  meant  that  he  was  a  member  of  the  crew  of  that 
whaleboat  which  swung  aft  on  the  other  side  of  the  quar- 
terdeck. Each  battleship  keeps  two  of  these  boats  rigged 
out  at  all  times  and  ready  for  instant  call  in  case  of  acci- 
dent, In  the  practise  squadron  this  summer,  it  had  been 
the  Admiral's  habit  always  to  have  a  life-saving  drill  on 
the  same  day  that  he  put  to  sea. 

As  the  anchors  appeared  in  sight  under  the  bows,  a 
signal  flashed  to  the  Flagship's  yardarm. 

"Form  column — speed  ten  knots !" 

Slowly  and  evenly,  as  if  toy  boats  drawn  by  an  in- 
visible string,  the  monstrous  craft  slid  along  one  after  the 
other  and  swept  clear  of  the  crooked  channel. 

Next  port  of  call  was  to  be  Wey mouth,  England.  But 
instead  of  standing  directly  northward  an  afternoon  of 
maneuvers  was  held.  Bright  bunting  shot  up  the  ship's 
halliards  every  few  minutes.  When  it  was  hauled  down 
as  a  signal  of  execution,  the  six  vessels  would  steam  grace- 
fully to  their  new  positions  and  hold  them  until  the  next 
command  from  the  old  tactician  in  charge.  Occasionally 
there  would  be  a  signal  of  commendation.  And  once  or 
twice  a  ship  had  to  be  told  to  take  her  proper  position  in 
the  formation.  But,  on  the  whole,  the  maneuvers  were  no 
more  than  a  silent  drill  of  massive  floating  dummies  which 
seemed  as  docile  and  responsive  as  a  squad  of  well- 
trained  soldiers. 

"Who'd  ever  want  to  be  a  soldier!"  exclaimed  one 
midshipman  after  watching  breathlessly  a  particularly  in- 
tricate exchange  of  positions  by  the  ships. 


ISO  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"Heavens,  man,"  retorted  someone  at  his  elbow,  "mean 
to  saty  you  didn't  know  that  soldiers  are  all  those  fellows 
who  wanted  to  be  sailors  and  couldn't — and  just  for  spite 
they  joined  the  Army  files?" 

"Whoa  there  !"  laughed  a  young  ensign  standing  nearby. 
"Neither  of  you  know  what  you  are  talking  about.  The 
Army's  the  best  friend  we've  got !" 

"Except  the  day  of  the  game,"  muttered  the  middy. 

"Then  too,"  continued  the  officer.  "Who'd  give  us 
a  clean  fight  like  that  every  November?  And  what — " 

Before  he  could  finish  a  shout  rang  out  from  the  bridge. 
At  the  same  instant  a  checkered  blue  and  white  flag  had 
been  released  at  the  Flagship's  masthead. 

"Man  overboard!" 

Expected  as  it  is  at  drill,  this  cry  always  brings  a 
thrill  of  real  anxiety  to  everyone.  Despite  the  readiness 
of  life-boats,  even  in  the  best  of  weather,  the  peril  of 
tumbling  into  the  ocean  far  from  land  is  great.  Almost 
before  the  unfortunate  man  has  come  to  the  surface,  the 
spinning  propellers  are  thundering  by  him  with  the  threat 
of  a  terrible  death. 

It  is  the  officer-of-the-deck's  duty  to  put  his  rudder 
over  to  swing  the  ship's  stern  clear.  Also  he  must  stop 
his  engine  on  that  side.  And  he  must  drop  the  life-buoy, 
man  and  get  away  the  life-boats,  and  maneuver  the  vessel 
so  that  he  may  lower  them  in  safety.  But  no  officer  is  so 
efficient  that  he  does  not  run  some  danger  of  being  a  few 
seconds  too  late  and  seeing  the  victim  throw  up  his  hands 
for  the  last  time  even  before  the  life-boat  falls  are  manned. 

"Away  both  life-boats!"  came  the  order. 

By  this  time  all  ships  in  the  column  were  sheering  out 
and  stopping  their  engines. 

It  was  of  course  only  a  drill.    The  Flagship  had  thrown 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  151 

overboard  a  marked  buoy  to  indicate  the  man.  Other 
ships  were  expected  to  lower  boats  and  rescue  him.  The 
lucky  boat  would  be  reported  and  its  coxswain  receive  a 
special  bit  of  praise  for  his  work. 

Bob's  crew  were  in  their  boat  before  Ole's.  But  Ole 
had  been  clear  enough  to  station  his  best  men  at  the 
cleats  to  which  the  boat  falls  or  ropes  were  made  fast. 
In  consequence  the  boat  dropped  evenly  and  with  almost 
giddy  speed  into  the  waiting  seas  beneath.  Bob,  on  the 
other  hand,  had  to  stop  his  lowering  twice  to  clear  the 
falls  of  kinks. 

Meanwhile  the  other  ships  were  getting  their  boats 
under  way  with  all  possible  speed.  Five  minutes  after  the 
first  signal  had  been  made,  ten  whale-boats  were  foam- 
ing along  over  the  heavy  Biscay  swells  toward  the  white 
slip  of  a  buoy. 

"Give  it  to  her,  lads!"  roared  Ole. 

But  he  was  a  boat's  length  behind  Bob,  and  all  the 
power  of  his  lungs  couldn't  shorten  the  distance  an  inch. 
Suddenly  he  saw  a  pair  of  feet  flung  up  in  the  very  center 
of  the  other  crew. 

"Crab  in  Gary's  boat!"  he  roared.  "Now  we've  got 
'em!" 

He  was  right.  One  of  the  other  oarsmen  had  forgotten 
how  great  care  must  be  used  in  handling  an  oar  in  a 
seaway  and  had  got  his  blade  snagged  in  the  face  of  a 
green  comber. 

But  the  race  was  lost  after  all  to  a  boat  from  the 
Minnesota. 

"She  was  closer  to  the  buoy  anyway,"  explained  the 
beaten  crews  on  their  return  to  the  ship. 

Half  an  hour  later  mess-gear  sounded  on  the  bugles 
and  shortly  afterwards  the  midshipmen  streamed  down  all 


152  W ON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

hatchways  for  a  good  old  Navy  supper  of  beans,  corn- 
bread,  rice  pudding,  and  coffee. 

"What  watch  tonight?"  sung  out  Ole  to  Tom  Poor. 

"Eight  to  twelve.     Anything  on?" 

"Nope.  That  is,  nothing  but  a  sing-fest  on  the  fore- 
castle. Come  on  up  after  hammocks." 

At  seven-thirty  the  call  to  hammocks  was  given  and  all 
hands  stood  by  the  long  troughs  where  the  rolled  bedding 
was  stowed.  As  the  mates  "piped  down"  on  their  whis- 
tles, each  boy  took  his  hammock  from  its  place  and  swung 
it  to  the  hook  on  the  steel  beam  overhead  that  had  been 
assigned  to  him  for  the  cruise. 

In  the  gathering  twilight  a  score  or  so  midshipmen 
grouped  on  the  upper  deck  forward  and  began  to  sing. 
The  evening  was  calm,  and  a  new  moon  made  a  shiny 
slit  in  the  western  sky.  Astern  could  be  seen  the  red 
and  green  running  lights  of  the  squadron  against  the  fol- 
lowing darkness  behind. 

"If  you  want  to  join  the  Navy, 
Just  come  along  with  me, 
'By  the  light— by  the  light— 
Of  the  silver-ee  moon!" 

sang  the  voices.  And  up  on  the  bridge  the  officer  of  the 
watch  leaned  against  the  windshield  rail  to  catch  another 
earful  of  the  old  song  that  it  might  bring  back  again  to 
him  the  sweet  memories  of  when  he  was  a  midshipman 
with  no  more  cares  or  worries  than  to  count  the  days  till 
the  beginning  of  September  leave. 

A  touch  on  his  arm  interrupted  the  reverie. 
"Life-boat's  crew  all  mustered  and  accounted  for,  sir." 
"Oh,  hello,"  said  the  officer  a  bit  vaguely,  his  memory 
still  heavy  on  him.     "Hello,  Hansen,  that  you?" 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  153 

"Yes  sir." 

"Very  well.  And  be  sure  that  your  releasing  gear  is 
all  clear  and  the  falls  neatly  coiled  down.  Never  can  tell 
when  some  young  idiot  is  going  to  tumble  in." 

Ole  had  his  mouth  open  for  an  "aye,  aye,  sir,"  when 
he  caught  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  the  shadow  of  a 
white  figure  balanced  on  the  rail  forward.  Apparently 
the  life-line  had  come  loose  in  some  way  or  had  not  been 
properly  secured  when  the  ship  was  getting  under  way. 
As  he  looked  the  figure  toppled  and  fell. 

"There's  one  now,  sir !"  he  blurted. 

The  officer  whirled  about  in  time  to  see  the  midshipman 
throw  out  his  arms  in  a  frantic  grasp  to  save  himself, 
then  tumble  backwards  into  the  sea. 

"Man  Overboard!"    And  no  drill  this  time! 

He  leaped  to  the  engine-room  telegraphs.  As  he 
thrust  them  down  and  up  to  "stop"  with  a  vicious  move- 
ment, he  spun  the  helmsman's  wheel  to  the  right  and  or- 
dered :  "Right,  man,  right !" 

In  the  first  second  the  signal  quartermaster  had  flashed 
on  the  electric  signals  and  sounded  the  whistle  for  the 
ship  astern  to  sheer  out. 

But  Ole  had  seen  none  of  these  things.  In  the  brief 
interval  of  time  it  had  taken  the  midshipman  to  reach  the 
surface  of  the  water,  just  one  thought  had  flashed  into 
Ole's  mind :  the  life-buoy. 

Quick  as  a  flash  he  remembered  his  instruction  earlier 
on  the  cruise  that  the  releasing  trigger  of  the  patent  life- 
ring  was  exactly  where  he  was  standing.  He  leaned  down 
and  felt  the  small  toggle  in  the  dark.  He  gave  it  a  vio- 
lent yank. 

At  the  same  moment  he  was  thrown  fiercely  against 
the  end  of  the  bridge. 


154  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"For  God's  sake,  not  that  one!" 

The  officer-of-the-deck  fairly  screamed  the  words  in 
his  ear.  Then  he  sprang  to  the  rail  and  looked  into  the 
boiling  water  below. 

Ole's  gaze  followed.  To  his  horror  he  saw  how  ter- 
rible a  mistake  he  had  made.  The  patent  life-ring,  a 
large  copper  buoy,  had  been  freed  at  exactly  the  proper 
moment  to  fall  squarely  on  the  head  and  shoulders  of  the 
man  overboard. 

"You've  killed  him,  you  young  fool!"  groaned  the 
officer.  Then,  with  a  wrench,  he  came  back  to  his  duty, 
and  in  long-practised  words  brought  the  ship  around  and 
passed  the  word  to  ease  away  the  lee  life-boat. 

One  thing  he  did  not  see:  At  the  words  "you've 
killed  him,"  an  awful  desperation  had  seized  Ole.  The 
whole  accident,  buoy  and  all,  had  taken  less  than  three 
seconds.  Yet  he  had  time  to  think,  "well,  if  I've  killed 
him  there's  not  much  use  of  me  being  alive."  And  in 
the  same  flash  had  come  the  feeling  that  the  boy  might 
be  only  stunned  and  would  drown  before  the  boat  could 
reach  him. 

Without  hesitation  he  vaulted  to  the  rail.  For  the 
tenth  of  a  second  he  balanced  there  far  above  the  water 
and  took  note  of  the  bearing  of  the  buoy  light  astern. 
Then  he  dived. 

Meanwhile  Bob  Gary  had  dashed  across  the  quarter- 
deck and  up  into  his  boat.  "Tumble  up !  Tumble  up !" 
he  cried  to  the  others.  "Some  lubber  you  are !"  was  his 
caustic  comment  as  one  of  them  missed  his  footing  on  the 
narrow  rail  and  nearly  went  overboard. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  to  race  across  a  dark  deck,  leap 
up  two  spans  of  rail,  clutch  the  steel  davit  and  swing 
dizzily  across  the  blank  space  between  ship  and  boat  was 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  155 

more  in  the  class  of  a  trained  acrobat's  tricks  than  any- 
thing else.  Yet  these  midshipmen  did  it  with  a  perfect 
grace  and  joy  as  if  they  were  exercising  in  a  gymnasium 
instead  of  racing  with  death  on  the  high  seas. 

"Bear  a  hand  aft !"  came  roared  from  the  bridge. 

"Shake  it  up,  Spike!"  called  Bob  to  the  coxswain. 
Then,  "Lower  away,"  he  added  almost  immediately.  The 
boat  dropped  into  the  inky  black  water  with  a  splash. 

"Steady — mind  your  pin!"  For  a  moment  it  looked 
as  if  the  tiny  craft  would  capsize  from  the  headway  of 
the  ship  and  the  cross-current  of  the  ground-swell.  But 
with  as  much  instinct  as  skill  Bob  threw  all  his  weight 
against  the  steering  oar  and  with  a  tremendous  effort 
swung  her  clear. 

"Now  give  'way  and  bust  her!"  he  bawled.  But  the 
words  were  unnecessary.  All  realized  that  this  was  the 
real  thing;  that  out  there  in  the  chilly  black  water  some 
classmate  or  friend  was  struggling  to  make  himself  seen 
or  heard  above  the  wash  of  the  sea. 

Searchlights  soon  flashed  from  the  nearest  ships.  Their 
white  beams  swept  back  and  forth  across  the  area  be- 
tween and  finally  came  to  rest  at  a  point  about  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  from  where  the  Connecticut  had  been  brought 
about. 

"I  see  it !"  proclaimed  Bob.  He  meant  the  buoy.  On 
either  side  of  the  metal  ring,  automatic  lights  were  fitted 
in  small  tubes  that  stand  up  in  the  water  and  burn  with  a 
glare  which  is  visible  for  a  long  distance. 

But  only  on  the  crest  of  the  seas  was  he  able  to  head 
directly  for  it.  Deep  in  the  valley-like  troughs  he  could 
only  guess  his  course  by  the  glare  of  the  searchlights 
overhead.  Also  the  enthusiasm  of  his  crew  made  steer- 
ing more  difficult  than  usual.  Before  he  knew  it  he 


156  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

caught  a  glimpse  of  the  glare  off  to  one  side.  He  had 
nearly  passed  it. 

"Easy  starboard,"  he  ordered.  "Give  away  port. 
Mind  your  stroke  now,  men,  we've  passed  the  blooming 
thing." 

"Yes,"  growled  the  stroke  oar,  "and  time  may  mean  a 
lot  to  that  poor  devil  out  there." 

Two  minutes  later  the  buoy  was  just  ahead.  The  bow 
oarsmen  manned  the  boathooks.  Then,  abruptly,  in  a 
voice  of  dismay  one  shouted: 

"He's  gone!" 

"What?"  exclaimed  Bob.  "Hook  her  in.  He  must 
be  there !" 

But  the  bow  men  were  right.  When  the  dripping  ring 
was  hauled  into  the  boat,  it  gave  no  sign  of  there  ever 
having  been  anyone  even  near  it. 

"He's  drowned !"  groaned  Bob.  "And  we're  to  blame. 
We  didn't  row  fast  enough." 

But  he  would  not  give  up  yet.  With  practically  no 
hope  left  he  had  the  boat  pulled  about  with  a  vague  idea 
that  he  might  find  the  body  floating. 

For  fifteen  minutes  the  search  continued.  Then  one 
of  the  crew  aroused  him. 

"Hey,  Gary,  they're  recalling  us." 

Bob  looked  up  at  the  ship.  "One-two-return,"  flashed 
the  blinker. 

"Given  him  up,  I  suppose,"  he  commented  sadly  and 
put  about. 

If  he  lives  to  be  a  hundred  Bob  will  never  forget  that 
pull  back  to  the  ship.  He  had  had  his  chance  to  do  a  big 
thing,  to  save  a  man's  life.  And  now,  he  felt,  he  had  dis- 
mally failed. 

"Stand  by  to  hook  on,"  bellowed  the  deck  officer. 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  157 

Bob  could  detect  a  terrible  condemnation  in  the  tones. 

Slowly  the  life-boat  came  up.  In  silence  its  crew 
clambered  over  the  rail  and  coiled  their  long  falls  down. 

"Good  work,  Bob,"  called  a  voice  in  the  dark  so  sud- 
denly that  the  one  addressed  jumped  a  foot. 

"Tom?     What— why— " 

"Yes,  it's  me,"  said  Tom  Poor.  "Haven't  they  told 
you  yet?" 

Bob's  heart  leaped.  "Was  he  saved  after  all?"  he  ex- 
ploded, hope  flooding  back  into  his  heart. 

"Sure  thing.  Ole  Hansen  beaned  the  poor  devil  with 
the  life  buoy  and  then  jumped  in  after  him." 

"But  why  didn't  he  make  the  buoy?" 

"Said  the  fellow  was  unconscious  so  he  couldn't  swim 
with  him.  Minnesota's  boat  picked  them  up  together." 

Bob  tried  to  speak  but  his  voice  failed  him. 

"I  meant  to  tell  you,  though,"  concluded  Tom,  "that 
the  Skipper  took  time  out  on  praising  Ole  to  say  that  he 
liked  the  way  you  got  your  boat  out.  Congrats !" 

"Thanks,"  murmured  Bob  weakly. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

NECK    AND    NECK! 

WHEN  the  practice  squadron  reached  Weymouth  the 
following  afternoon,  it  anchored  and  exchanged  cour- 
tesies not  only  with  the  British  commander  ashore  but 
with  the  British  battle  cruiser  Inexorable  lying  further 
up  the  roads. 

After  the  bustle  and  confusion  of  getting  away  boats 
and  landing  parties,  things  settled  down  once  more  about 
the  deck  for  the  regular  port  routine.  Then  it  was  an  old 
boatswain  named  Merrill  called  a  council  of  war  near 
the  forward  12-inch  turret  of  Tom's  ship. 

"Fellows,"  he  explained,  "over  there  is  one  of  the 
crack  ships  of  the  British  Grand  Fleet.  She  has  a  well- 
deserved  reputation  of  being  the  leading  athletic  star  of 
her  class.  Last  year  I  was  over  here  on  the  Nevada  and 
she  pretty  well  cleaned  us  up.  I'd  like  now  to  take  a  fall 
out  of  her  if  I  could." 

"How  about  our  cutter  crew?"  suggested  Bob  Gary. 

"Exactly  what  I  had  in  mind.  If  we  can  collect  a  fair 
squad  and  get  her  to  accept  a  challenge,  I  know  a  sure 
way  of  winning." 

For  a  moment  the  listeners  looked  dubious.  It  wasn't 
quite  in  keeping  with  Annapolis  athletic  traditions 
to  enter  any  contest  where  the  outcome  was  a  sure 
thing. 

"Oh,  don't  be  worried,"  laughed  the  old  boatswain. 

158 


NECK  AND  NECK!  159 

"It's  fair  enough.  The  Limeys  invented  it  years  before 
a  Yankee  used  it." 

However,  just  what  the  trick  was  he  refused  to  dis- 
close. 

"I'm  a  little  leery,"  confessed  Tom  later.  "It  would 
be  great  stuff  to  beat  a  British  crew  all  right.  But  I  wish 
I  knew  just  what  Merrill  means  by  his  plan  to  make  it  a 
sure  thing." 

Finally  Tom  mustered  up  courage  enough  to  inquire. 

"Come  out  with  us  after  supper,"  agreed  the  Boat- 
swain, "and  I'll  show  you.  I  am  anxious  for  you  to 
take  an  oar  if  you  really  haven't  any  objections.  But 
right  here  and  now  I  want  you  to  understand  that  this 
strategy  of  mine  is  something  that  is  practised  the  world 
over.  If  we  get  away  with  it,  our  luck  is  good,  that's 
all." 

Just  before  sundown  the  racing  cutter  was  lowered  and 
dropped  aft  to  the  gangway.  It  was  one  of  a  long  sharp- 
nosed  type  common  to  all  navies,  and  thus  particularly 
well  fitted  for  international  races. 

A  crew  of  husky  midshipmen  had  been  selected  not 
only  for  their  strength  but  for  their  experience  and 
training  on  the  regular  crew  squad  back  at  the  Academy. 

"Cast  off,"  commanded  Merrill.  "Stand  by  your  oars 
— out  oars !" 

As  the  boat  drifted  away  from  the  ship,  Tom  caught 
sight  of  the  huge  gray  battle  cruiser  nearly  a  mile  away 
across  the  harbor.  The  red  rays  of  the  low  sun  painted 
her  queer  rectangular  fire-control  masts  with  a  dull  glow. 
She  looked  the  part  of  a  conqueror  and  he  thrilled  to 
think  of  her  glorious  record  in  the  late  war. 

The  Boatswain's  voice  interrupted  his  thought.  "See 
this,  fellows?"  He  held  up  an  ordinary  deck  bucket. 


160  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

In  its  bottom  were  bored  a  number  of  holes.  By  a  line 
he  dropped  it  over  the  side  and  attached  it  to  the  boat's 
stern. 

"Works  as  a  drag,"  he  explained.  "When  a  base-ball 
player  is  about  to  face  a  pitcher  he  swings  an  extra  bat 
for  a  moment  or  two.  Then  when  he  goes  to  the  plate 
the  single  stick  in  his  hand  feels  lighter  than  it  really  is. 
The  bucket  is  our  extra  bat." 

The  speaker  held  up  his  hand.  "Stand  by!"  he  or- 
dered sharply.  "Give  'way  together!" 

Twelve  powerful  backs  swung  into  the  stroke.  The 
lean  boat  quivered,  rapidly  gathered  headway,  then  plowed 
along  with  a  foaming  bow-wave  shot  from  either  side. 

"Oars!" 

The  dripping  blades  cut  one  deep  sweep,  then  hung 
exactly  horizontal  to  the  surface  of  the  water. 

The  Boatswain  leaned  over  and  drew  in  the  bucket. 
Then  once  more  he  set  the  boat  in  motion.  This  time 
there  was  a  marked  increase  in  speed.  Smiles  flitted 
across  the  oarsmen's  faces.  Each  felt  the  relief  of  having 
the  drag  lifted  from  his  burden. 

"Oars!"  again  sung  out  Merrill.  "Now  do  you  see 
the  point?"  he  asked.  "If  you  train  with  the  bucket 
trailing  astern  you  can  develop  a  good  stroke  and  good 
muscles.  Then,  if  you  pull  in  a  race  without  it,  the  re- 
lief is  so  great  as  to  make  the  job  seem  half  as  hard." 

He  turned  to  Tom  who  was  sitting  beside  him.  "Isn't 
that  fair  enough?" 

"Splendid  idea!"  exclaimed  Tom. 

Tom  then  took  an  oar  near  the  bow  and  the  boat  was 
started  off  with  a  good  long  practise  stroke.  And  al- 
though the  bucket  was  once  more  overboard  encouraging 
progress  was  made. 


NECK  AND  NECK!  161 

Merrill  steered  them  directly  toward  the  Inexorable 
and  along  her  port  side  about  fifty  yards  away.  Just 
under  her  bow  he  gave  the  command  to  cease  rowing  and 
toss  oars.  The  latter  is  simply  that  each  rower  raises 
his  oar  to  a  vertical  position  with  its  handle  resting  in  the 
bottom  of  the  boat. 

"It's  the  signal  of  a  challenge,"  the  Boatswain  told  his 
men.  "Gives  them  a  chance  to  look  us  over  and  size  up 
our  speed." 

On  the  warship's  deck  a  crowd  of  officers  and  sailors 
collected.  Near  the  rail  stood  a  group  of  British  mid- 
shipmen talking  earnestly  among  themselves. 

"They've  got  us!"  suddenly  sang  out  Merrill.  And 
giving  the  order  to  put  out  oars  and  row  he  brought  his 
boat  around  the  bow  and  down  the  other  side  of  the  ves- 
sel. 

"Pull  up !"  he  snapped.     "Show  'em  what  you  can  do." 

Oars  crackled  and  the  rush  of  water  was  like  that  under 
a  motor-boat's  bilge.  A  babel  of  shouting  broke  out 
across  the  space  that  separated  them  from  the  battle 
cruiser.  It  died  away,  then  exploded  into  a  concerted 
cheer  for  the  American  midshipmen. 

"Great!"  commended  the  old  Boatswain  when  he  had 
brought  his  crew  to  a  stop  for  breath  nearly  a  mile  astern. 
"Couldn't  you  see  how  keen  they  were  on  the  prospects 
for  a  race?" 

"But  what  a  shame  to  have  the  bucket  on,"  protested 
Tom.  "They  couldn't  see  us  at  our  best." 

"Yes,"  added  'Bob  Gary,  "I  hate  to  have  them  think 
that  was  the  fastest  we  could  pull." 

But  Merrill  only  laughed  and  muttered  something 
about  a  midshipman's  vanity. 

That  night  a  visiting  party  was  permitted  to  go  to  the 


162  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

British  ship  after  evening  drill.  A  minstrel  show  was 
being  given  on  deck  and  an  invitation  had  been  sent  to 
the  American  Squadron  for  fifty  midshipmen  from  each 
battleship. 

Tom  and  Bob  were  lucky  enough  to  be  among  the 
number.  A  sub-lieutenant  of  about  their  own  age  took 
them  in  charge  on  arrival  and  escorted  them  down  to  the 
midshipmen's  mess  aboard. 

"Our  lads  come  in  earlier  than  you  do,"  he  explained. 
"Some  of  them  are  just  past  twelve  years  in  age." 

"But  they  go  to  a  naval  school  later,  don't  they?"  in- 
quired Bob. 

"Yes.  The  advantage  as  we  see  it  is  in  having  a  boy 
grow  up  with  the  sea.  If  he  finds  he  can't  stand  for  a 
navy  life,  he  is  still  young  enough  to  go  into  something 
else." 

He  went  on  to  explain  that  he  meant  no  reflection  on 
the  American  system.  "Only  you  may  have  four  years 
of  finest  training  and  then  discover  that  you  don't  want 
to  be  a  naval  officer." 

"Right,  in  a  way,"  stoutly  contended  Bob.  "But  that 
is  what  our  summer  cruises  are  for.  And,  after  all,  it 
is  good  for  the  naval  service  as  a  whole  to  have  as  many 
graduates  of  Annapolis  as  possible  out  in  civil  life.  It 
tends  to  increase  the  country's  sympathy  and  under- 
standing of  our  Navy." 

Suddenly  Tom  had  an  idea.  "Bye  the  bye,  sir,  did 
you  know  we  gave  you  a  challenge  this  afternoon?"  he 
asked. 

The  officer  laughed.  "Should  say  I  did.  I  wasn't  on 
the  topside  when  you  came  by,  but  I  heard  talk  of  it  all 
about." 

"I  ask,"  Tom  went  on,  "because  I've  an  oar  in  the 


NECK  AND  NECK!  163 

boat.  All  of  us  would  like  you  to  understand  it  is  a 
midshipman  crew." 

The  Sub-lieutenant  gave  Tom  a  keen  glance.  He 
opened  his  mouth  as  if  to  speak,  then  shook  his  head. 
Suddenly  he  spied  one  of  the  other  officers.  "I  say 
there,  Conrad,"  he  called,  "who  did  you  tell  me  was  cox- 
swaining that  American  boat  this  afternoon?" 

"Why,  old  Merrill.  Don't  you  remember  him  at 
Scapa?" 

The  Sub  turned  again  to  Tom.  "Might  as  well  make 
a  breast  of  it,"  he  said.  "If  you  don't  know  it  already, 
your  Boatswain  has  the  reputation  of  being  one  of  the 
cleverest  raceboat  men  in  any  navy.  When  our  gang 
saw  him  in  charge  of  your  crew  this  afternoon,  they 
were  delighted.  Knew  it  was  the  real  thing,  and  all 
that." 

"Really,  I  don't  quite  follow  you,"  Tom  put  in  with 
a  bewildered  look. 

"That's  because  you  haven't  been  about  much  yet," 
said  the  Englishman  kindly.  "You  know  boat  racing  is 
the  one  game  in  which  sailormen  of  every  nationality 
can  meet  on  common  ground.  They  bet  extravagantly 
on  results.  They  win  and  lose  as  if  the  races  meant  life 
and  death.  Old  defeats  are  remembered  for  years. 
And,  provided  the  rules  are  kept  in  the  actual  race,  no 
scheme  is  too  intricate  so  long  as  it  encourages  the  other 
fellow  to  put  his  money  up." 

An  expression  of  sudden  understanding  spread  over 
Tom's  tanned  features.  "Now  I  see  it !"  he  exclaimed. 

"You  probably  do,"  agreed  the  officer.  "The  usual 
stunt  is  to  row  by  the  other  fellow's  ship  with  a  great 
pretense  at  speed.  He  times  you  as  you  go  by.  He  dis- 
covers you  are  pretty  slow  and  puts  up  all  his  savings 


164  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

on  the  race.  But  the  truth  is  you've  fooled  him  by  not 
rowing  your  best,  so  the  outcome  may  be  quite  unex- 
pected." 

The  truth  then  dawned  on  Tom.  Merrill's  bucket  was 
less  a  device  to  strengthen  the  oarsmen  than  to  deceive 
his  competitors  into  believing  his  crew  was  slower  than 
they  really  were. 

Announcement  of  the  entertainment  put  a  stop  to  the 
conversation.  Aft  had  been  rigged  a  full-size  stage  with 
regular  scenery.  An  orchestra  was  seated  in  front. 
Nearly  a  thousand  men  and  officers  composed  the  aud- 
ience, filling  the  decks  and  turrets  clear  to  the  funnels. 

For  nearly  two  hours  the  fun  continued.  Moving  pic- 
tures and  a  boxing  bout  occupied  the  intermission.  At 
ten  the  program  came  to  an  end  and  refreshments  were 
served. 

It  was  at  this  moment  Tom  happened  to  glance  for- 
ward in  time  to  observe  several  men  in  rowing  costume 
come  in  over  the  boat  boom.  Surprised,  he  turned  to 
his  friend  the  Sub-lieutenant.  But  before  he  could  ask 
his  question  the  latter  laughed  and  said : 

"There  you  are — the  little  game  I  told  you  of.  See 
that  blonde  giant  ?  He's  stroke  oar." 

Next  afternoon  at  five  Tom  understood.  The  British 
came  over  to  accept  the  challenge.  They  rowed  under 
the  Connecticut's  bow  and  tossed  oars.  Then  they  pulled 
by  with  a  great  show  of  energy.  Tom  gave  two  looks 
and  one  grunt.  "Not  them,"  he  announced.  "The  blonde 
giant  isn't  aboard." 

"Not  who?"  asked  Bob  Gary. 

"Their  regular  crew."  Tom  drew  Bob  aside.  "Look 
here,  man,  this  is  a  crazy  game.  The  Limey  tells  me  it's 
played  this  way  all  over  the  world.  Maybe  it  is.  But 


NECK  AND  NECK!  165 

I'm  not  going  to  stand  for  it.     We're  no  professionals." 

Bob  frowned  and  made  a  face.  "Gosh!  What's  up, 
Tom?" 

"Just  this:  We're  fooling  them  by  rowing  around 
with  a  bucket  tied  to  our  tail.  They're  fooling  us  by 
practising  their  regular  crew  at  night  and  sending  a  fake 
boat  over  to  show  how  slow  they  are.  All  of  it  just  to 
stir  up  a  lot  of  bets  we  aren't  interested  in  at  all." 

So  the  upshot  was  that  Tom  went  to  the  Boatswain 
and  declared  the  midshipmen  would  stand  for  no  more 
"bucket  games."  The  old  fellow  took  this  attitude  in 
good  grace,  though,  and  agreed  to  use  his  experience  to 
get  the  crew  into  shape. 

"Guess  we  don't  need  the  bucket  after  all,"  he 
chuckled. 

And  he  was  nearly  right. 

For  a  week,  twice  a  day,  the  crew  pulled  over  a  three- 
mile  course  laid  across  the  harbor.  Though  the  race  was 
to  be  but  a  mile-and-a-half,  the  midshipmen  wished  to 
bring  their  endurance  to  the  point  it  had  been  after  the 
period  of  spring  athletics  at  Annapolis. 

The  day  of  the  race  dawned  clear  with  a  brisk  breeze 
from  the  north.  Towards  noon  the  wind  dwindled.  By 
three  the  course  was  like  glass.  Everywhere  lay  clean 
reflections  of  the  glistening  warships.  Stake-boats  with 
their  red  finish  flags  were  doubled  in  the  blue  mirror  in 
which  they  lay. 

"Now  remember,  ten  fast  ones  on  the  get-away!"  the 
Boatswain  cautioned  his  men.  "Then  settle.  Watch 
my  count.  Count  with  me."  He  went  on  talking  more 
to  steady  the  nervous  oarsmen  than  to  explain  what  they 
had  heard  a  thousand  times  before. 

The   Connecticut's  boat   jumped   ahead  at   the   start. 


166  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

Merrill's  ten  fast  strokes  did  the  work.  But,  like  the 
traditional  British  bulldog,  the  other  cutter  hung  on  with 
her  bow  just  opposite  the  tiller  clenched  in  Merrill's 
gnarled  old  hand. 

Inch  by  inch  the  English  cutter  gained.  As  she  reached 
the  first  British  man-of-war,  such  a  burst  of  cheering 
greeted  her  that  she  pulled  up  nearly  a  fathom. 

Finally  the  boats  lay  neck  and  neck! 

"Save  it,  lads,  save  it !"  cautioned  Merrill  in  a  low  but 
tensely  audible  tone.  "Save  it  till  the  end," 

He  knew  the  game,  that  old  Boatswain,  as  an  old 
Boatswain  should.  Well  he  realized  that  if  only  he  could 
hold  his  own  to  the  finish  the  youth  of  his  midshipmen 
would  assure  a  spurt  that  must  win. 

A  hundred  yards  from  the  stake-boat  lay  the  Connecti- 
cut. Her  rails  were  crowded  with  a  mass  of  white-clad 
sailormen.  Their  roars  would  have  drowned  a  dozen 
saluting  guns. 

Merrill  leaped  to  his  feet.  Raising  his  fists  in  the 
air  he  bellowed  the  last  word  to  win : 

"Now  g'we  it  to  her!" 

Tom  shut  his  eyes  and  threw  his  last  ounce  of  burning 
muscular  strength  into  the  heavy  oar.  It  fairly  crackled 
with  the  strain.  The  boat  sprang  ahead  as  if  released 
from  the  bucket  used  the  first  day.  In  a  matter  of  sec- 
onds it  crossed  the  line  less  than  a  yard  ahead  of  the 
Britisher. 

The  race  was  won. 

Back  at  the  ship  a  signal  boy  handed  Tom  a  signal. 
"From  the  Inexorable,"  he  explained. 

Tom  seized  the  bit  of  paper.  "Congratulations,"  it 
read.  "Better  a  lot  without  buckets,  isn't  it?"  The  sig- 
nature was  that  of  the  Sub-Lieutenant. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

MISSING 

WHEN  the  day  came  for  the  Connecticut  to  leave  Wey- 
mouth,  a  disquieting  rumor  flew  about  the  decks.  A 
midshipman  was  missing. 

The  Skipper  sent  for  his  Executive  Officer.  "What 
have  you  learned  ashore?"  he  asked. 

"Absolutely  nothing,  sir.  Midshipman  Van  Brunt  is 
listed  on  yesterday's  liberty  list.  Quite  a  number  of 
witnesses  remember  seeing  him  land.  'But  not  a  single 
one  can  I  find  who  will  state  what  course  the  lost  boy 
took  after  entering  the  town." 

The  Skipper  drummed  nervously  on  his  desk.  Only 
a  few  days  before,  he  had  boasted  to  the  Admiral  about 
his  men.  To  date  not  a  single  midshipman  from  the 
Connecticut  had  got  into  serious  trouble. 

"I  make  it  impossible  for  them,"  had  been  his  ex- 
planation. "Before  we  reach  port  I  begin  a  series  of 
talks  and  printed  pamphlets  about  the  country  we  are 
going  to  visit.  I  provide  maps  of  the  battlefields  and 
details  to  go  with  them.  I  secure  the  names  and  ad- 
dresses of  the  best  theatres.  I  list  the  museums  that 
ought  not  to  be  missed,  with  accounts  of  the  mummies 
and  other  freaks  they  contain.  In  short,  I  plan  to  make 
the  midshipman  ashore  so  busy  he  won't  have  time  to 
tangle  himself  up  with  police  or  anyone  else." 

And  now  he  was  going  to  have  to  report  to  the  Ad- 

167 


1 68  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

miral  his  plan  had  failed  at  last.  The  Connecticut  must 
remain  in  port  to  make  a  search  for  the  missing  boy. 

"No  other  way  out,"  he  told  his  Executive  Officer. 

The  latter  did  not  reply.  He  was  staring  through  the 
open  port  above  the  SkippeY's  head. 

"Good  heavens,  sir!"  he  ejaculated. 

The  Skipper  looked  up  sharply,  then  rose  and  peered 
out.  "Merciful  Heavens !"  he  snorted,  going  the  Execu- 
tive one  better. 

Then*,  without  further  parley,  the  two  officers  snatched 
their  caps,  dashed  from  the  cabin,  and  appeared  on  deck 
just  too  late  to  give  a  dozen  orders  that  should  have  been 
given  fifteen  minutes  before. 

The  reason,  of  course,  was  Reggie  Van  Brunt.  His 
knack  of  getting  himself  and  other  people  into  trouble 
had  once  more  been  hitting  on  all  six  cylinders. 

At  noon  the  day  before  he  had  joined  the  liberty  party. 
"Where  to,  Reggie?"  Bob  had  asked  him. 

"Oh,  just  wander  about  a  bit." 

Which  wasn't  the  exact  truth  at  all.  Reggie  had  long 
been  fascinated  by  aircraft  of  every  sort.  He  had  quite 
made  up  his  mind  to  apply  for  the  naval  aviation  corps 
just  as  soon  after  graduation  as  he  would  be  permitted 
to  enter. 

On  this  particular  day,  the  Weymouth  morning  paper 
contained  a  brief  mention  that  the  R-34,  the  giant  British 
dirigible  which  had  crossed  the  Atlantic,  was  due  in 
Bournemouth  that  same  afternoon.  Thus  it  was  natural 
that  Reggie  could  be  seen  boarding  the  one  o'clock  train 
for  Bournemouth  just  as  it  pulled  out. 

One  hour  later,  precisely  on  schedule,  the  great  gas 
bag  appeared.  Reggie  first  caught  sight  of  it  as  a  longish 
silvery  moth  in  the  north.  Rapidly  it  grew  in  size  as  it 


MISSING  169 

approached.  The  body  swung  beneath  was  soon  plainly 
visible.  Giant  propellers  whirled  and  the  broad  hori- 
zontal and  vertical  rudders  spread  out  aft  like  webbed 
feet  of  some  gigantic  water  bird. 

"Some  little  bag,  what?" 

Reggie  turned  to  find  himself  looking  into  the  eyes  of 
a  young  English  flying  officer.  "Certainly  is,  sir,"  he 
replied  enthusiastically. 

"You  must  be  from  the  American  Squadron,  aren't 


you 


"Yes,  sir.  Just  ran  up  here  to  see  what  this  big  fellow 
looked  like.  Of  course  you  know  we  are  buying  one 
from  you  for  our  own  Navy." 

"I  do  indeed,"  laughed  the  Britisher.  "My  brother 
is  one  of  the  turnover  crew.  R-38  is  her  designation, 
y'know.  Whale  too.  Carries  thirty  passengers  and  has 
something  like  six  thousand  miles  cruising  radius.  Able 
to  cross  the  ocean  and  back  in  less  time  than  one  of  the 
big  liners  could  make  it  one  way!" 

Reggie's  jaw  dropped  open  at  the  wonder  of  such 
achievement  in  the  air.  It  was  difficult  to  believe  how 
rapid  progress  was  being  made. 

"By  the  way,  my  name  is  Calvert."  The  Englishman 
held  out  his  hand. 

"Van  Brunt  is  mine,"  said  Reggie  promptly.  "Do 
you  think  it  would  be  possible  for  me  to  see  some  of 
your  planes?" 

"Not  a  bally  reason  why  you  shouldn't.  I'm  a  bit  in 
love  with  the  American  Navy  myself.  Saw  a  lot  of 
your  fellows  at  one  of  the  air  stations  during  the  war. 
I  liked  the  spirit  they  had ;  always  ready  for  a  go — any- 
thing from  poker  to  a  bombing  party.  Action  was  all 
they  asked  for." 


170  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

To  Reggie's  enormous  delight  the  officer  led  him  out 
of  the  crowd  to  a  trim  roadster  bearing  the  Royal  Air 
Force  insignia. 

"We'll  run  over  to  the  blinkin'  meadow,"  he  explained, 
"and  see  what  the  Custards  can  do  for  us." 

The  "blinking  meadow"  turned  out  to  be  the  aviation 
field;  the  "Custards"  were  simply  mechanics  in  work- 
suits  of  an  egg-yellow  material. 

"Like  a  hop?" 

Reggie  hesitated.  This  was  probably  an  invitation  to 
fly.  But  he  had  never  flown  before.  The  danger  of  it 
rushed  suddenly  upon  him  and  gave  him  a  queer  empty 
feeling  about  the  region  of  his  belt-buckle.  On  the  other 
hand,  what  a  wonderful  opportunity  to  get  some  real  ex- 
perience !  And  there  was  the  adventure  he  might  re- 
count to  the  gang  when  he  got  back  abroad  ship. 

This  last  decided  him.  "You  bet!"  was  his  emphatic 
acceptance. 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  a  broad  field  that  con- 
tained not  only  the  offices,  machine  shops,  and  storage 
sheds,  but  had  at  least  a  thousand  acres  of  gently  rolling 
grassy  plain.  Near  the  edge  of  the  field  stood  a  series  of 
queer  fence-like  signals  for  machines  aloft.  Here  and 
there  were  visible  the  sunken  pits  for  night  landing 
lights. 

After  a  short  conference  with  some  of  the  "Custards" 
the  officer  telephoned  headquarters  and  reported  his  in- 
tended flight.  "One  passenger,"  he  concluded.  "Ameri- 
can midshipman — observation  flight." 

Reggie  thrilled.  Doubtless  the  incident  would  be  re- 
ported in  the  press  and  he  would  have  himself  "on  the 
map"  as  the  Annapolis  saying  goes. 

Two  "Custards"  helped  him  into  his  flying  suit. 


MISSING  171 

"Cold  up  there,"  Calvert  explained.  "Went  up  for 
an  altitude  last  week  and  got  twenty-six  below  zero." 

"Not  going  to  try  that  today,  arje  you  sir?"  asked 
Reggie  nervously. 

Calvert  laughed.  "Not  with  that  old  crock."  He 
pointed  to  a  large  biplane  being  wheeled  out  into  the  field. 
"No,  I  want  to  give  you  a  look  at  your  ships  and  the 
general  layout  of  Portland  Harbor." 

The  speaker's  face  suddenly  went  serious.  "There's 
something  else,"  he  said  slowly.  "Something  I  can't 
quite  explain  unless  you  know  it  already. 

Reggie's  expression  was  becomingly  blank. 

"One  reason  I  am  giving  you  a  lift  is  to  start  you  off 
right  towards  England.  Some  people  in  America  are 
always  trying  to  stir  up  ill-feeling  against  us.  Yet  dur- 
ing the  war  we  fought  elbow  to  elbow.  Your  battleships 
and  ours  put  in  month  after  month  in  the  gloom  of 
Scapa  Flow,  No  truer  test  of  friendship  could  there 
have  been  than  the  dreary  grind  of  that  endless  monot- 
ony. We  shan't  forget  it  soon.  We  don't  want  you  to. 
And  you  personally  I'd  like  to  have  understand  that  we 
Englishmen  are  just  about  the  same  as  anyone  else. 
We're  queer  sometimes  just  as  Americans  are  queer. 
But  there's  no  real  reason  for  either  of  us  ever  letting 
our  queernesses  go  so  far  that  we  have  to  pile  out  and 
kill  a  few  millions  of  each  other  to  prove  who's  the 
queerest." 

Reggie  smiled  pleasantly.  He  didn't  know  exactly 
what  to  say  to  this  long  speech.  But  he  made  up  his 
mind  that  if  ever  he  got  the  chance  he  was  going  to  be 
equally  hospitable  to  an  Englishman.  It  made  the  world 
somehow  seem  much  bigger  and  pleasanter  to  feel  that 
foreigners  could  be  friends. 


172  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

A  loud  explosion  behind  him  nearly  split  his  eardrums. 
He  jumped  and  dodged  sideways. 

"Just  warming  up,"  chuckled  Calvert. 

The  big  engine  fired  again,  then  suddenly  broke  into 
a  continuous  roar  that  made  speech  of  any  kind  impossible. 

Calvert  motioned  Reggie  up  the  ladder  a  Custard  had 
leaned  against  the  body.  A  moment  later  the  machine 
began  to  glide  forward,  slowly  at  first,  then  faster  and 
faster,  until  without  perceptible  jerk  it  cleared  the  grassy 
sod. 

Reggie's  heart  beat  like  a  snare-drum.  He  glanced  over 
the  side.  The  green  earth  was  dropping  swiftly  away. 
Never  had  it  looked  so  beautiful.  Would  he  ever  see 
it  again? 

For  a  while  the  plane  circled  the  flying  field.  The 
dirigible  lay  like  a  mammoth  slug  at  its  mooring  tower. 
Around  it  were  visible  clusters  of  black  ants  that  joined 
and  separated  with  slow  movements.  A  curious  sense 
of  unreality  came  over  Reggie  as  he  realized  these  ants 
were  the  crowds  of  people  he  had  struggled  through  earlier 
in  the  afternoon. 

At  an  altitude  of  about  5000  feet,  Calvert  ceased  to 
climb  and  lengthened  out  on  a  course  due  south.  The 
sea  was  now  visible  as  a  deep  blue  bank  of  color  below  the 
lighter-hued  and  cloud-flecked  horizon. 

Weymouth  passed  beneath  them  as  a  mottled  smear  on 
the  landscape.  "Looks  as  if  someone  upset  a  bucket  of 
paint  down  there,"  thought  Reggie. 

The  ships  looked  more  like  toys  in  a  bath-tub  than  like 
weapons  of  sea-warfare.  Tiny  patches  of  white  showed 
where  the  crew  stood  about  the  decks. 

Reggie  nudged  the  aviator.  "There's  mine."  He 
framed  the  words  with  his  lips  to  make  himself  under- 


MISSING  173 

stood     despite    the    deafening    roar    of    the    motors. 

Calvert  nodded  and  smiled.  For  a  moment  he  appeared 
to  be  contemplating  a  descent,  but  finally  shook  his  head 
and  turned  about.  He  pointed  toward  the  penitentiary  on 
the  summit  of  Portland  Hill  and  made  Reggie  look  over 
again  as  the  wreck  of  a  war  victim  passed  beneath.  Then 
he  brought  the  plane  to  a  course  back  home  and  settled 
down  for  the  drive. 

Up  to  this  point  Reggie's  afternoon  had  been  unusual 
and  exciting.  'But  there  was  no  suspicion  in  his  mind  that 
anything  might  happen  in  the  way  of  real  adventure  or 
actual  danger. 

The  first  event  of  the  series  that  were  to  delay  Ms 
return  to  the  ship  occurred  not  long  after  Weymouth  had 
disappeared  astern.  Suddenly  the  roar  of  the  motors 
ceased.  The  plane  tilted  sharply  downward,  then  length- 
ened out  on  a  long  spiral  volplane  to  earth.  Fortunately 
there  was  an  open  field  almost  directly  beneath.  When  the 
machine  had  come  to  a  jolting  stop  Calvert  turned  to  his 
passenger  with  a  word  of  apology. 

"Sorry  to  dump  you  here,  old  top.  Tank  must  be  leak- 
ing again.  We  seem  to  be  entirely  out  of  gas." 

Examination  proved  the  Englishman  was  right.  He 
cautioned  Reggie  that  the  best  thing  to  do  was  to  stay 
by  the  plane  while  he  went  and  got  enough  fuel  from 
the  village  just  ahead  to  take  them  back.  He  started  off 
at  a  fast  walk. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  Calvert  was  still  absent.  Reg- 
gie began  to  be  worried.  His  liberty  was  up  at  midnight 
and  the  ship  was  due  to  sail  at  ten  the  next  morning. 
To  overstay  leave  was  serious  enough  in  itself.  To  miss 
the  ship  in  a  foreign  port  involved  so  many  difficulties  that 
the  very  thought  of  them  made  him  miserable. 


174  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

Just  at  dusk  the  lights  of  an  automobile  swung  along 
the  road  by  the  field.  Thinking  it  must  be  Calvert,  Reg- 
gie trotted  over  to  meet  him.  As  he  stood  in  the  way, 
the  car  slowed  and  stopped.  But  instead  of  Calvert  there 
stepped  out  a  British  naval  officer  wearing  the  uniform  of 
a  commander. 

"Hello,"  he  greeted  Reggie.     "What's  up?" 

Reggie  explained  the  situation.  "And  I'm  due  back  to- 
night— absolutely  have  to  get  back !"  he  almost  wailed. 

The  commander  smiled.  "Cheer  up.  Been  there  my- 
self." He  paused.  "Tell  you  what  we'll  do,"  he  went 
on  after  a  moment.  "Leave  a  note  for  Calvert.  I  know 
him  and  will  explain  next  time  I  see  him.  I'm  going  to 
stop  for  the  night  just  outside  Wey mouth.  Have  a  date 
for  dinner,  but  I  can  put  you  up.  I  know  your  Admiral 
and  will  make  it  all  right  for  your  having  stayed  over 
until  tomorrow  morning." 

The  officer  spoke  with  such  assurance  that  Reggie  took 
him  at  his  word  and  consented  to  be  taken  to  a  pleasant 
little  country  inn  several  miles  further  on.  There  his 
benefactor  left  him  to  gorge  a  delicious  dinner.  As  there 
were  no  other  guests,  the  inn-keeper  sat  down  with  him 
and  regaled  him  with  all  manner  of  tales  about  the  country 
thereabouts,  the  war,  and  other  matters  of  interest. 

Next  morning,  as  planned,  the  Commander  returned  for 
Reggie.  Though  he  was  friendly  enough,  there  seemed 
to  be  something  he  was  concealing.  Reggie  couldn't  quite 
make  out  whether  he  was  to  be  the  victim  of  a  practical 
joke,  or  whether  the  officer  was  simply  laughing  up  his 
sleeve  at  the  plight  of  an  American  midshipman  wandering 
around  in  a  strange  country  trying  to  get  back  to  his  ship. 

"We'll  put  off  at  ten,"  said  the  Commander. 

"But  the  ship  is  due  to  sail  then,"  protested  Reggie. 


SOME     SORT     OF    EXCITEMENT 
SEEMED    TO    BE    GOING    OK. 


MISSING  175 

The  Commander  gave  another  queer  smile.  "Don't 
worry  about  that,"  he  said. 

At  Weymouth,  Reggie  found  himself  embarked  aboard 
a  beautiful  little  motor-boat  that  might  have  been  a  small 
cruising  yacht.  It  was  manned  by  a  crew  of  unbelievable 
cleanliness.  Its  fittings  shone  like  gold  in  the  morning 
sunshine.  And  on  its  bow,  its  cushions,  its  pennant  staff, 
and  other  parts  were  placed  a  curious  inscription  or  coat- 
of-arms  like  nothing  Reggie  had  ever  seen  before. 

Promptly  at  ten  the  Commander  appeared  on  the  deck 
with  a  nice-looking  British  naval  captain.  To  Reggie's 
surprise  the  captain  appeared  a  great  deal  younger  than 
the  commander.  And,  although  he  didn't  catch  the  of- 
ficer's name  when  he  was  introduced,  he  found  him  so 
friendly  and  so  interested  in  American  ships  that  Reggie 
almost  forgot  the  immense  difference  between  their  ranks. 

On  the  way  out  the  conversation  was  general,  but  mostly 
on  naval  topics.  Several  times  Reggie  had  a  feeling  that 
he  had  seen  the  youthful  captain  somewhere  before.  But 
he  couldn't  quite  place  him. 

When  the  Connecticut  was  close  aboard,  Reggie  glanced 
ahead  to  see  if  anyone  was  watching  his  approach.  With 
sinking  heart  he  saw  not  only  the  Skipper  and  the  Execu- 
tive Officer  on  deck,  but  nearly  all  the  other  officers. 
Some  sort  of  excitement  seemed  to  be  going  on.  Bugles 
were  blowing  and  men  were  dashing  about  in  every  direc- 
tion. There  certainly  must  be  a  fire. 

As  the  motor  boat  came  alongside,  there  was  a  piping  of 
whistles  and  the  "attention"  was  sounded  on  deck. 

The  Commander  got  out  and  went  up  the  gangway 
followed  by  Reggie.  The  young  English  captain  ex- 
plained that  he  was  not  going  aboard  but  wished  Reggie 
a  pleasant  voyage,  hoped  soon  to  meet  him  again. 


176  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"We  kept  one  of  your  young  men  over  last  night,"  Reg- 
gie heard  the  Commander  saying  to  the  Skipper. 

"Perfectly  all  right,  sir,"  came  the  amazing  answer. 
"But  the  Prince — will  he  come  aboard?" 

"Oh  no,  sir.  Just  an  informal  look  about  the  harbor 
he's  having,"  explained  the  Englishman. 

"The  Prince/'  repeated  Reggie  to  himself.  "Why  that's 
who  it  was — the  Prince  of  Wales!"  He  turned  quickly 
and  craned  his  neck  to  get  another  look. 

"Get  off  that  gangway,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,"  ordered  the 
Executive  Officer  in  a  fierce  whisper. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

CLASS  SPIRIT 

ON  the  night  of  October  fifth,  first-classmen  at  the 
heads  of  mess  tables  in  Bancroft  Hall  knocked  for  silence 
and  announced : 

"Meeting  of  the  third  class  in  Memorial  Hall  imme- 
diately after  supper!" 

Tom  Poor  moved  uneasily  in  his  seat.  A  sense  of 
impending  conflict  stole  over  him.  It  was  as  if  the  first- 
classman's  announcement  had  been  a  challenge  to  fight. 

In  a  way  it  was ;  but  not  to  fight  the  first-classman. 

"What's  that  for?"  asked  the  youngster  next  to  Tom. 

"Don't  know,"  was  the  reply.  Then,  realizing  this  was 
not  the  exact  truth,  he  added :  "Unless  it's  to  elect  a  new 
class  president." 

"Good  thing,"  returned  the  other.  "Stiles  behaved  all 
right  in  a  way.  Trouble  was  we  elected  him  too  soon 
after  entering  Annapolis.  The  crowd  who  had  been  in 
the  Washington  prep  school  simply  picked  this  man  and 
shoved  him  through." 

"Funny,"  mused  Tom,  "when  you  come  to  think  of  it. 
Here  we  are  from  every  state  and  territory  in  the  Union, 
even  Hawaii  and  Porto  Rico.  And  just  let  a  small  part 
of  us  have  two  months  together  in  a  prep  school  and  a 
regular  gang  is  formed." 

"That's  what  I  mean  by  saying  it's  a  good  thing,"  agreed 
the  other.  "We've  now  had  a  year  and  a  cruise  to  get 

177 


178  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

acquainted  with  each  other.  And  after  that  came  Septem- 
ber leave  to  think  ourselves  over  in." 

The  speaker  turned  suddenly  to  Tom. 

"I've  thought  it  over  and  I'd  pick  you!" 

Again  Tom  squirmed  uneasily ;  and  the  sense  of  coming 
battle  quickened  his  pulse  unpleasantly.  This  was  nearly 
the  twentieth  time  this  evening  the  same  hope  of  his  elec- 
tion had  been  suggested  by  a  classmate. 

"And  all  because  Si  Stiles  happened  to  fall  from  his 
barn  and  break  his  leg,"  thought  Tom,  "which  crippled 
him  and  puts  him  back  a  class;  and  puts  me — ?" 

"Where'd  you  spend  your  leave?"  broke  in  the  voice 
next  him. 

"West,"  said  Tom  absently.  "Went  up  to  Ole  Hansen's 
place  in  Oregon.  His  father  is  the  biggest  wheat  man 
in  the  state." 

"Have  a  good  time?" 

The  question  was  never  answered.  Three  tables  down 
Tom  caught  the  eyes  of  a  man  who  sat  facing  him,  study- 
ing him,  measuring  him. 

It  was  Reggie.  His  chin  was  cupped  in  his  hand,  his 
elbow  on  the  table  ...  a  new  luxury  since  becoming  a 
third-classman.  Plebes  must  never  dare  take  hands  or 
arms  from  their  laps  except  to  place  food  into  their 
silent  mouths. 

As  Reggie  stared  at  Tom,  his  lips  moved.  Tom  saw 
the  boy  next  him  nod  reply.  Each  time  Reggie  spoke  the 
other  nodded  his  head. 

"What's  hit  Van  Brunt — trying  to  stare  me  out  of 
countenance?"  blurted  Tom.  He  was  used  to  Reggie's 
original  timidity.  This  poised  self-assurance  that  enabled 
him  to  return  Tom's  fierce  look  so  calmly  was  a  new  de- 
velopment. 


CLASS  SPIRIT  179 

"Probably  feels  a  little  bloated  over  being  a  youngster," 
continued  Tom,  answering  his  own  question. 

But  he  misjudged  his  rival.  Indeed  he  had  not  yet 
fully  grasped  the  fact  that  Reggie  was  his  rival. 

"Bob,"  Reggie  was  saying  at  this  moment,  "do  you  real- 
ize that  the  class  is  divided  into  two  camps  ?" 

"I  realize  that  you  are  getting  a  leadership  you  don't  de- 
serve," laughed  Bob  Gary.  "Your  highbrow  manner,  your 
air  of  being  just  about  the  finest  thing  on  deck,  is  grad- 
ually attracting  to  you  all  the  men  who  fall  for  that  sort 
of  thing.  The  curious  part  of  it  is  that  just  this  kind 
of  weak  and  silly  snobbishness  made  all  the  trouble  for 
your  plebe  year." 

"Is  still  making  trouble,"  corrected  Reggie.  "The 
bunch  who  were  so  contemptuous  of  my  early  physical 
weakness  and  my  selfishness  all  the  more  bitterly  resent 
my  getting  pretty  good  in  gym  work  as  well  as  my  few 
late  signs  of  popularity." 

"Why  not  take  a  crack  at  this  election  ?"  suggested  Bob. 

"Not  a  chance  in  the  world.  Fellows  like  Tom  Poor 
with  a  football  career  ahead  of  them  have  too  much  weight 
of  public  opinion  on  their  side." 

"But  all  hands  still  talk  of  the  killing  you  made  last 
summer  the  time  you  captured  the  stolen  money." 

"Pish!  They'll  forget  that  soon  enough."  Reggie 
lowered  his  voice.  "I've  got  a  scheme  though.  You 
realize  that  we — you  and  I — were  gentlemen  when  we 
came  to  Annapolis?" 

"Better  go  easy  on  that  line,"  warned  Bob. 

"All  right.  But  for  the  sake  of  argument  call  it  so. 
Anyway  we've  all  got  to  be  gentlemen  when  we  graduate 
because  we've  got  to  be  naval  officers.  So  why  not  shove 
someone  across  for  president  who  has  the  makings  of  a 


180  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

gentleman  in  him,  who  will  understand  our  gang — the 
'elite,'  I  believe  they  call  us — yet  will  have  the  kind  of 
bucko  brawn  that  appeals  to  the  rougher  element." 

"Have  you  a  man  in  mind?" 

"Ole  Hansen." 

For  a  moment  Bob  did  not  reply.  He  wondered  why 
on  earth  the  class  should  choose  a  farmer's  son  as  presi- 
dent. Even  though  the  farmer  were  wealthy  he  still 
was  a  farmer,  a  crude  product  of  the  western  prairies. 

"Can't  you  see  he's  both?"  continued  Tom.  "Got  the 
back  of  an  ox,  the  brain  of  a  profiteer,  the  polish  a 
generation  of  wealth  can  give?" 

"Reggie!'  exclaimed  Bob,  "you're  a  political  genius! 
I  see  it  all  now.  Tom  Poor  is  a  good  fellow  in  his  way. 
But  he's  not  the  all-around  man  to  represent  the  class. 
So  you've  picked  one  who  not  only  will  appeal  to  both 
sections  of  us,  but  who  also  is  the  one  person  that  could 
defeat  Tom  Poor !" 

"And  Tom  Poor  is  going  to  take  some  defeating !"  con- 
cluded Reggie.  "Believe  me!" 

As  the  brigade  poured  out  of  the  vast  mess-hall,  six- 
hundred  of  the  blue-clad  midshipmen  withdrew  to  the 
great  east  chamber  known  as  Memorial  Hall. 

About  the  gray  limestone  walls  were  inlaid  tablets  of 
bronze  dedicated  to  various  naval  men  who  had  died  in  line 
of  duty.  Simple  inscriptions  on  each  recounted  the  brief 
careers  of  the  men  who  had  given  their  lives  for  love  of 
country.  And  in  each  case  was  added :  "Erected  by  his 
classmates." 

"The  one  true  clique  in  the  Navy,"  it  has  been  called,  this 
class  spirit  which  develops  through  the  four  hard  years 
at  Annapolis.  Bound  by  memory  of  infinite  toil,  not  a 
little  hardship,  and  a  common  spirit  of  defense,  each 


CLASS  SPIRIT  181 

Naval  Academy  class  carries  it  through  the  long  years 
of  wandering  as  a  brotherhood  which  never  dies. 

"Am  I  the  man  to  lead  them?"  Tom  asked  himself  on 
the  flagstone  steps.  "Can  they  all  be  my  classmates,  my 
friends,  my  brother  officers,  and  more  ?" 

He  caught  sight  of  Reggie  Van  Brunt,  noted  the  boy's 
unconscious  grace  of  bearing,  which  for  all  his  lack  of 
physical  strength  made  him  a  marked  figure. 

Tom  shook  his  head.  The  old  resentment,  the  old 
jealousy  of  social  standing,  boiled  up  within  him.  "I 
doubt  it — I  doubt  it,"  he  murmured.  "Never  could  I 
like  Van  Brunt,  or  even  those  who  are  his  friends." 

The  Class   Secretary  called  the  meeting  to  order. 

"Fellows,"  he  began,  "it  is  my  painful  duty  to  an- 
nounce that  our  former  Class  President,  Stiles,  will  not 
be  able  to  rejoin  our  class  owing  to  the  accident  he  met 
with  on  leave.  He  will  return  sometime  next  spring  and 
become  a  member  of  the  present  fourth  class." 

Little  feeling  was  displayed  at  these  words.  More 
and  more  had  the  class  felt  the  indignity  of  the  means  by 
which  Stiles  had  been  elected.  Each  man  was  now  deter- 
mined to  put  up  a  strong  fight  for  his  own  particular 
friend  or  hero. 

"It  has  been  suggested,"  he  continued,  "that  we  nom- 
inate our  candidates  here  tonight.  We  can  take  a  week 
to  carry  out  campaigns  for  those  put  up.  Then,  next 
Monday,  we  can  have  the  final  election." 

Instantly  several  men  in  different  parts  of  the  audi- 
ence held  up  their  hands. 

"I  nominate  Tom  Poor!"  they  shouted  simultaneously. 
There  was  great  applause. 

"Any  other  nominations?"  asked  the  Secretary. 

Then  came,  one  by  one,  the  lesser  stars,  men  backed 


182  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

by  smaller  groups  of  friends.  Among  these  names  was 
that  of  Ole  Hansen.  Only  a  scattered  clapping  met  the 
calling  of  it.  Ole  was  popular  enough,  but  somehow  no 
one  ever  thought  of  him  as  a  hero.  He  was  too  reserved, 
too  slow  to  impress  his  will  or  personality  on  those  around 
him. 

Even  Reggie's  name  went  down  to  the  tune  of  many 
jeers  and  shouts  of :  "Oh,  you  John  D.  Rockefeller !" 

"Wish  I  were!"  laughed  Reggie  good-naturedly.  He 
had  already  lost  much  of  his  first  sensitiveness  about  his 
father's  fall  from  grace. 

For  seven  days  the  campaign  raged.  At  meals  the 
youngsters  talked  little  else. 

If  a  section  marching  to  recitation  was  heard  to  buzz,  it 
was  known  as  a  youngster  section,  and  its  exasperated 
leader  cried  unceasingly:  "Here,  knock  off  talking  in 
ranks!" 

Notes  were  passed  in  classrooms.  Whispers  were 
passed  at  drills.  In  little  knots  in  the  corridors,  along  the 
walks,  on  the  athletic  field,  even  under  the  bleachers,  the 
third  class  gathered  and  debated  with  heated  words,  some- 
times violence,  the  possibilities  of  their  favorite. 

"Swell  chance  your  friend  Hansen's  got,"  said  Bob 
to  Reggie  on  the  second  day. 

"Not  if  my  plan  works  out,"  replied  the  latter. 

"But  I  hear  everybody  agreeing  on  Tom  Poor." 

"Not  so  fast,  Bob,  old  top.  Let  me  put  a  question  to 
you.  Suppose  we  were  going  to  have  two  presidents,  one 
for  each  faction:  what  kind  of  men  would  they  be?" 

"Well,"  replied  Bob,  "The  Rough  and  Readies,  as  they 
call  themselves,  would  have  a  good  physical  fighter.  We 
Social  Lions,  as  they  term  us,  would  have  something  of 
a— a—" 


CLASS  SPIRIT  183 

"Knight  Errant  ?"  suggested  Reggie. 

"Sounds  like  what  I  mean,"  agreed  Bob. 

"Very  well,"  said  Reggie  mysteriously,  "you're  go- 
ing to  have  them — one  a  physical  fighter,  as  you  call  him, 
the  other  a  Knight  Errant." 

"But  we  can't  have  two,"  objected  Bob. 

"We  won't.  One  man  in  two  characters — one  man 
named  Ole  Hansen."  Reggie  left  them,  whistling  hap- 
pily. 

Between  lunch  and  first  recitation  next  day  Ole  Han- 
sen  was  seen  by  several  people  walking  in  Lover's  Lane 
with  a  rather  pretty  girl.  After  drill  an  even  greater 
number  of  his  class  noted  him  at  the  same  occupation. 

"Funny,"  commented  one ;  "I  thought  Ole  Hansen  was 
a  woman  hater.  And  he  was  to  be  captain  of  the  class 
football  team.  Now  he's  skipping  practice  for  a  skirt! 
Queer  how  the  best  men  fall  for  a  flounce !" 

Shortly  before  dark  the  girl  left  Ole  at  the  main  gate. 
But  even  then  he  shirked  his  football  duties.  He  hastened 
to  the  gymnasium. 

Here  another  and  equally  unaccustomed  kind  of  behav- 
ior marked  Ole's  presence  near  the  physical  instructor's 
office.  He  let  himself  become  engaged  in  a  heated  and 
noisy  dispute  with  Buck  Mangin,  the  assistant  for  wres- 
tling. 

"What's  the  world  coming  to?"  asked  a  youngster  at 
supper.  "Saw  the  Big  Swede  fussing  a  Jane  and  shooting 
his  face  all  in  one  afternoon !" 

Others  agreed  that  the  combination  of  woman-hater 
and  clam  like  Ole  Hansen  must  have  been  drunk  or  crazy 
to  spend  his  time  so. 

Next  day  he  again  paced  the  walks  with  the  same  girl. 
A  delegation  from  the  class  football  squad  lay  in  wait 


184  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

for  him  when  she  left.  They  were  determined  to  know  if 
he  had  deserted  them  for  good. 

But  Ole  eluded  the  delegation.  He  got  to  the  gym  by 
a  back  walk.  And  in  five  minutes  after  his  arrival  he  had 
called  Buck  Mangin  a  liar  loud  enough  for  pretty  nearly 
everybody  present  to  hear. 

On  the  last  day  in  the  week,  after  steady  attention, 
Ole  ceased  to  walk  with  the  girl.  He  followed  her  all 
over  the  grounds  twenty  paces  in  her  rear. 

At  six  P.  M.  he  again  visited  the  gym  and  picked  a  quar- 
rel with  Buck  Mangin.  After  two  minutes  of  vigorous 
conversation  he  planted  a  short  arm  jab  on  the  point  of 
Mangin's  jaw.  The  latter  took  the  count,  but  recovered 
sufficiently  to  put  Ole  on  the  report  for  "fighting,"  "un- 
gentlemanly  conduct,"  and  several  other  items  he  didn't 
think  of  at  first. 

Just  before  supper  formation,  Reggie  met  Bob  in  the 
corridor.  He  threw  his  arms  about  his  roommate  and 
started  a  turkey-trot  down  the  corridor. 

"Stop  it,  you  monkey!"  cried  the  outraged  Bob. 

"She's  a  jewel !  A  pippin !  A  lollypaloosa !"  sang  Reg- 
gie. 

"Who's  the  girl  ?"  asked  Bob,  breaking  away. 

"No  girl.  My  scheme,  I'm  talking  about,"  said  Reggie 
in  a  hoarse  whisper.  "It's  worked  to  a  f are-you-well !" 

"First  I've  heard  of  it,"  returned  Bob  suspiciously. 

"You  mean  to  say  you  haven't  heard  our  crowd  pipe 
their  admiration  for  the  way  Ole  has  copped  the  Governor 
of  Maryland's  oldest  daughter?" 

"I've  seen  him  trailing  a  girl  all  week,"  admitted  Bob. 

"And  you  haven't  got  the  unofficial  results  of  the  au- 
tumn strength  tests,  saying  Ole  is  the  best  all-around  de- 
veloped midshipman  in  the  Naval  Academy?" 


CLASS  SPIRIT  185 

Bob  grunted  without  enthusiasm.  "I  know  Ole  is  on 
the  pap  for  calling  Buck  Mangin  a  liar  and  knocking  him 
down." 

Reggie's  gaiety  remained  undamped  by  his  friend's  re- 
fusal to  admire  the  progress  of  his  candidate. 

"Can  you  keep  a  secret?"  he  asked. 

Bob  nodded. 

"Well,  I  framed  the  whole  thing  up  on  Ole.  He's 
the  next  class  president  sure  as  sunrise !  It  cost  me  five 
pounds  of  candy  every  week  from  now  till  June  to  buy 
the  Governor's  daughter.  Buck  Mangin  came  through  for 
twenty-five  dollars — though  he  may  want  more  after  this 
rumpus.  He  simply  faked  a  report  on  the  tests." 

"You  bloomin'  idiot !"  gasped  Bob.  "What  on  earth  do 
you  mean?" 

"Only  that  we  got  the  girl  to  meet  Ole  and  tell  him  she 
had  been  insulted  by  a  midshipman.  Asked  him  to  stick 
around  all  week  and  clean  the  villain  up  as  soon  as  she 
could  identify  him." 

"Gosh!"  was  all  Bob  could  say. 

"And  Buck  Mangin  simply  started  the  rumor  that  Ole 
was  to  stand  one  on  the  strength  tests.  We  thought  it 
was  a  failure  because  Ole  happened  to  get  different  dope 
from  the  real  record.  But,  when  he  swung  on  Mangin, 
he  showed  up  just  the  caveman  stuff  we  were  after  to 
impress  the  Tom  Poor  supporters." 

Bob  Gary  gave  Reggie  a  long  and  solemn  look. 

"Mister  Van  Brunt,"  he  declared,  "either  you're  the 
cleverest  political  manager  in  Annapolis,  or  the  biggest 
lunatic  at  liberty.  If  you  give  me  till  Monday  night  I'll 
tell  you  which." 

Monday  night  election  came.  Bob  accompanied  Reg- 
gie to  Memorial  Hall.  He  wished  to  give  Reggie  his 


186  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

decision  before  he  had  any  chance  to  excuse  himself. 

The  two  approached  a  group  of  midshipmen  known  to 
be  friendly  to  Tom  Poor.  One  lanky  individual  who 
would  make  the  varsity  crew  this  year  was  holding  forth 
on  Tom's  long  list  of  virtues. 

"And  as  for  that  other  kind,  Hansen,"  he  concluded, 
"I  haven't  got  anything  really  against  him,  but — "  he 
lowered  his  voice,  "did  any  of  you  deck-hands  see  him 
hang  to  that  bunch  of  ruffles  all  last  week?" 

Reggie's  face  fell. 

"It  worked,  old  dear,"  said  Bob  in  mock  praise.  "But 
wasn't  the  girl  stunt  meant  to  help  Ole  ?" 

"It  was,"  grieved  Reggie. 

Across  the  hall  they  joined  another  group.  Here  at 
least  should  be  voiced  a  proper  approval  of  a  man  who 
could  charm  the  winsome  daughter  of  a  governor. 

"Can  you  stand  the  thought  of  it?"  questioned  a  low, 
well-modulated  voice.  "Can  you  imagine  having  for  a 
class  president  a  common  thug  like  the  one  who  started 
that  riot  in  gym — this  Ole  Hansen?" 

Reggie  took  Bob's  arm. 

"I  give  up,"  he  said  dolefully.  "Let's  don't  stay." 
But  Bob  held  back.  "Oh,  be  a  man.  Stick  around  and 
take  your  punishment  like  a  sport!" 

The  Secretary  called  the  meeting  to  order. 

"While  not  necessary,"  he  announced,  "in  view  of  the 
large  number  of  candidates,  we  should  have  a  written  bal- 
lot." 

Cries  of  "No !  No !"  came  from  all  parts  of  the  class. 

"What  would  you  have  then?" 

"Only  one  man  has  a  chance !"  yelled  someone  in  back. 

"Sure!"  another  took  up  the  cry.  "I  move  we  elect 
Tom  Poor  by  acclamation !"  Roars  of  applause  greeted 


CLASS  SPIRIT  187 

this  suggestion.  To  all  appearances  Tom  was  as  good  as 
elected. 

But  Tom  himself  had  not  been  consulted.  He  stood  a 
little  back  and  to  one  side.  Again  he  was  watching  Reg- 
gie Van  Brunt,  and  the  friends  like  Bob  Gary  who  stood 
near  Reggie.  And  again  he  knew  in  his  heart  that  never 
could  he  endure  so  much  as  the  acquaintance  of  such  a 
man.  There  was  no  use  pretending. 

He  had  his  ideals  and  standards.  These  other  fellows 
like  Reggie  had  theirs.  They  stood  for  money  and  what 
money  could  buy.  He  stood  for  the  strength  in  a  man's 
back,  the  honesty  in  a  man's  soul.  So  far  as  his  experi- 
ence went  these  society  lovers  had  neither. 

While  these  thoughts  raced  through  Tom's  head  the 
applause  grew  in  volume. 

"Tom  Poor — speech!  President  Poor!  Speech!" 
roared  the  multitude. 

Tom  clenched  his  hands.  His  mind  was  made.  He 
would  be  true  to  himself  at  least.  He  mounted  the 
speaker's  table. 

"Fellows,"  he  said  when  the  tumult  had  died  away,  "I 
appreciate  the  way  you've  shown  your  feeling  about  me. 
I  wish  I  had  some  words  for  telling  you  how  much  I 
appreciate  it." 

Cries  of  "Bet  your  boots  we  do!"  and  "You  said  a 
mouthful,  Tom !"  interrupted  him. 

"But  I  can't  take  the  honor." 

"The  heck  you  can't!"  and  "Why  not?"  from  all  sides. 

"Some  day,  maybe,  I'll  explain.  It's  a  private,  per- 
sonal reason  though.  And  I'd  rather  you  wouldn't  ask 
me." 

Silent  amazement  held  the  audience.  Surely  Tom 
Poor  of  all  people  had  nothing  to  hide. 


1 88  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"There's  one  thing  I  wish  to  add,"  he  went  on.  "From 
some  talk  I  heard  tonight  I  don't  believe  one  of  the  other 
candidates  is  being  appreciated  by  you  men.  That's  Ole 
Hansen." 

Tom  glared  somewhat  defiantly  about  him.  Then,  rais- 
ing his  fist  for  emphasis,  he  shouted  two  questions : 

"How  many  of  you  people  know  that  Ole  Hansen  stuck 
by  a  girl  for  a  week  in  order  to  get  the  hound  she  told 
him  had  insulted  her?" 

Not  a  trickle  of  sound  escaped  the  six-hundred  listen- 
ers. 

"How  many  of  you  know  that  when  Ole  Hansen 
knocked  down  Buck  Mangin  he  was  dealing  out  the  only 
kind  of  punishment  a  bribe-taker  and  a  liar  deserves  in  an 
institution  like  this?" 

Then  in  a  brief  but  eloquent  way  Tom  laid  bare  the 
two  chief  objections  against  the  Big  Swede  this  evening. 

Possibly  it  was  Tom  that  did  it.  For  he  kept  his  place 
on  the  table  and  took  the  vote  himself. 

"All  in  favor  of  Ole  Hansen,"  he  cried,  "right  hands 
up!" 

He  didn't  stop  to  count  them. 

"Contrary !"  he  shouted. 

Not  a  single  solitary  hand.     Ole  Hansen  was  elected ! 

"Well,"  said  Bob  a  little  later,  "I'll  take  it  all  back,  Reg- 
gie, old  skeesicks.  You'll  be  putting  'em  in  the  White 
House  next !" 

Then,  because  he  couldn't  stand  his  roommate's  grow- 
ing conceit,  he  added :  "If  there's  a  Tom  Poor  around  to 
help  you  out !" 


CHAPTER  XIX 

IN  SECRET 

A  FEW  nights  after  the  election  there  occurred  the  first 
of  a  series  of  incidents  that  gave  Reggie  his  greatest 
chance  to  serve  the  class.  It  was  probably  the  most  sen- 
sational use  to  which  he  put  his  remarkable  imagination 
during  his  whole  four  years  at  Annapolis. 

Through  the  whole  evening  study  hour,  Bob  Gary  had 
bent  his  entire  energy  on  the  problems  in  electrical  engi- 
neering for  the  ensuing  day.  "Juice,"  as  the  course  was 
called,  promised  to  be  a  stumbling  block.  How  to  apply 
abstruse  mathematics  to  an  invisible  current  which  shot 
like  lightning  through  a  solid  wire  painfully  perplexed 
him. 

Reggie  was  absent.  The  whole  two  hours  from  7.30 
p.  M.  to  9.30  P.  M.  he  had  been  in  his  little  side  room 
tinkering  away  at  some  sort  of  apparatus. 

"Got  your  probs  worked  out  for  to-morrow?"  sung  out 
Bob,  when  finally  his  brain  refused  to  function  any  longer. 

An  exasperated  mumble  came  from  the  bedroom. 

"What  in  Sam  Hill  are  you  up  to  anyway  ?" 

Again  Reggie  gave  vent  to  an  inarticulate  sound.  Bob 
determined  to  investigate. 

He  found  his  roommate  on  his  stomach  reaching  under 
the  radiator.  From  the  window  ran  a  network  of  wires 
and  strings.  On  the  sill  was  clamped  a  small  wooden  box 
containing  an  alarm  clock  connected  by  a  series  of  tiny 

189 


ipo  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

pulleys  and  threads  both  to  the  window  and  to  some  invis- 
ible mechanism  behind  the  steam  coil. 

"Good  heavens,  Man !"  exclaimed  "Bob.  "Are  you  go- 
ing in  for  infernal  machines?" 

For  reply  Reggie  rose  triumphantly  to  his  feet  and  an- 
nounced :  "Wait,  Impatient  One,  and  thou  shalt  see." 

Whereupon  he  removed  the  alarm  clock  carefully  from 
its  refuge,  wound  it,  and  set  its  warning  bell.  Next  he 
opened  the  window.  Which  done,  he  proceeded  to  get  into 
bed,  shoes  and  all. 

"We  shall  now  assume  it  is  that  sad  minute  before  re- 
veille," he  explained.  "I  am  dreaming  of — of,  let  us  say, 
interminable  ranks  of  chocolate  cakes.  Now  watch." 

Bob  patiently  eyed  the  machinery.  The  minute  hand 
reached  the  hour  for  which  the  alarm  was  set.  Instantly 
there  arose  from  the  vitals  of  the  radiator  a  strange  buzz- 
ing noise.  Miraculously  strings  and  wires  moved.  The 
window  shuddered.  An  invisible  force  was  compelling  it 
to  move,  to  break  from  its  lifeless  trance. 

Then,  so  suddenly  that  Bob  himself  jumped,  the  win- 
dow leaped  from  its  seat  and  closed  with  a  crash  that 
shook  the  washstand.  Splintered  glass  flew  dangerously 
into  the  room.  Then  the  entire  pane  tumbled  out  of  its 
frame  and  clattered  upon  the  iron  radiator  below.  De- 
struction was  complete. 

Sharply  Reggie  rose  from  his  bed.  For  a  moment  he 
eyed  the  wreckage.  Ten  demerits  it  stood  for :  "dam- 
aging government  property,"  the  regulations  listed  it. 

"It  worked !"  he  said  at  last. 

"It  sure  did,"  agreed  Bob  with  enthusiasm.  "How 
much,  may  I  ask,  do  you  expect  to  make  out  of  this 
noble  window-closing  device?" 


IN  SECRET  igi 

Reggie  opened  his  mouth  to  answer. 

BANG! 

A  sudden  sharp  explosion  like  a  pistol  shot  rattled  the 
glass  door. 

"What's  that?"  For  a  moment  Reggie  forgot  his  own 
devastation. 

Bob  had  already  reached  the  door.  "Across  the  hall !" 
he  cried,  and  rushed  out.  Two  plebes  lived  opposite. 
Several  other  midshipmen  had  preceded  Bob  in  reaching 
them.  The  plebes  stood  at  attention. 

Their  room  was  a  mess.  Ink  splattered  the  walls,  the 
ceiling,  the  occupants,  the  one  remaining  electric  lamp. 
Blood  ran  from  cuts  on  the  cheeks  and  hands  of  the 
plebes. 

An  upperclassman  at  once  began  the  investigation. 

"Who  did  this?" 

"Don't  know,  sir,"  from  the  plebe. 

"Don't  know — you've  got  to  know !" 

"Guess  the  ink  bottle  blew  up,  sir." 

"How  ?" 

"Somebody  put  a  lithia  tablet  or  something  in  it." 

"Who?" 

"A  third-classman,  I  think,  sir." 

"You  think — do  you  know?"  was  the  angry  question. 

"Yes  sir,  it  was  a  third-classman." 

The  upper-classman  turned  to  Bob  and  Reggie  who 
had  recognized  him  as  Bradley  of  the  second  class. 

"  'Bout  time  you  youngsters  learned  when  and  where 
to  stop !"  he  blurted ;  then  stalked  out  of  the  room. 

The  next  incident  that  bore  heavily  on  Reggie's  future 
occurred  two  weeks  later.  It  was  hop  night.  Reggie 
had  no  girl.  But  the  unaccustomed  privilege  of  attend- 


192  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

ing  hops  which  he  had  been  denied  as  a  plebe  made  one 
almost  an  adventure. 

Music  and  lights,  swirling  couples,  gay  laughter,  and 
subtle  perfumes  combined  to  make  an  atmosphere  of 
brilliant  social  activity  which  struck  at  the  roots  of  Reg- 
gie's romantic  soul. 

"Most  beautiful  place  for  a  dance !"  exclaimed  a  fem- 
inine voice  at  his  elbow. 

"Nothing  like  it  on  the  Atlantic  coast!"  agreed  her 
partner  with  geographical  abandon. 

Reggie  shuddered.  Could  there  be  any  pleasure  in 
talking  such  namby-pamby  stuff  when  the  very  air  was 
surcharged  with  deepest  human  emotions? 

"Go  easy,  you  ham!"  in  a  tense  whisper  behind  him 
broke  into  his  reverie.  He  turned  to  find  that  a  rather 
stern  looking  young  lady  had  been  backed  up  against  him 
by  the  movement  of  the  crowd. 

To  his  astonishment  this  most  unladylike  remark  ap- 
peared to  have  come  from  her.  For  at  once  her  escort 
replied  in  quite  a  different  and  far  less  exasperated 
voice:  "Excuse  me,  dearie,  I  couldn't  help  it."  Then 
he  snickered  and  winked. 

There  was  something  so  uncouth  in  the  whole  per- 
formance that  Reggie  followed  the  couple  with  his  eyes. 
Even  when  they  took  the  floor  their  dancing  was  not  en- 
tirely what  could  be  expected  of  the  dignity  of  an  An- 
napolis hop. 

As  the  girl  left  her  coat  at  the  door  to  the  ladies' 
dressing-room  Reggie  determined  to  discover  her  identity. 
He  soon  found  her  partner,  one  of  his  own  classmates, 
waiting  in  the  passageway. 

"Say,  Smythe,"  he  asked  as  pleasantly  as  he  could, 
"who's  that  goodlooker  you've  got?" 


IN  SECRET  193 

Midshipman  Smythe  turned  a  stern  gaze  on  Reggie. 
"What's  it  to  you?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  nothing,"  replied  Reggie,  taken  aback.  "But  I 
rather  liked  her  looks  and  was  interested;  that's  all,  I 
promise  you." 

Abruptly  Smythe  broke  into  a  chuckle  that  shook  him 
first,  then  made  him  speechless. 

"It's  Beverly!"  he  gasped  finally.  "Beverly,  with  his 
sister's  clothes  on — and  a  wig — and  real  corsets  and  all! 
And  you  didn't  recognize  your  own  classmate !  Oh,  that's 
rich !" 

Reggie  tried  to  laugh.  When  he  found  he  couldn't 
laugh  he  tried  to  say  something.  Speech  failing,  he 
turned  and  hurried  away.  He  was  of  half  a  mind  to  re- 
port the  outrage.  "Low  mucker  stuff !"  he  thought  to 
himself. 

The  climax  of  his  growing  sense  of  class  humiliation 
came  on  the  following  Monday.  Due  to  a  strained  knee 
from  too  much  flying  ring  work  he  had  been  excused 
from  marching  to  recitation  with  the  regular  section.  In 
consequence  he  reached  the  chemical  laboratory  slightly 
ahead  of  the  others. 

Outside  he  removed  his  rainclothes  and  overshoes,  the 
uniform  of  the  day.  Within  stood  the  two  instructors, 
lieutenants.  Said  one  lieutenant  loud  enough  for  Reggie 
to  hear :  "Who's  next  ?" 

"Youngster  class  in  chemistry,"  replied  the  other. 

"Oh,  that  fresh  bunch!" 

"Fresh  is  right." 

"Haven't  got  over  being  plebes  yet,  have  they?" 

"Or  else  not  into  being  officers  and  gentlemen." 

"Let's  throw  the  hooks  into  them,  what  do  you  say?" 

"Hooks  is  right." 


194  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

Reggie  lost  the  rest.  With  burning  cheeks  he  turned 
and  walked  out  of  earshot. 

As  soon  as  the  afternoon  drill  was  over,  he  got  hold  of 
Bob  Gary.  "Something  important  I've  got  to  tell  you," 
he  explained.  By  one  of  the  great  portico  pillars  he 
bared  his  secret. 

"You  mean  our  class  is  getting  in  bad?"  asked  Bob. 

"Exactly.  And  a  very  few  are  responsible  for  the 
whole  thing.  They're  up  to  tricks  that  can't  be  covered 
either  by  hazing  or  regulations.  Yet  so  long  as  we  wear 
the  same  number  of  stripes  on  our  arms,  and  are  known 
as  belonging  to  the  same  class  here,  we've  got  to  share 
the  mortification  of  being  partners  in  the  fool  stunts 
they're  pulling  off." 

"Agreed.     But  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 

"Don't  know,  except  in  a  general  way."  Reggie  waved 
one  hand  as  if  reaching  for  some  invisible  object.  "Do 
you  remember,"  he  continued  after  a  moment,  "how  they 
used  to  do  out  west  before  the  law  got  on  its  feet?" 

"Shoot  'em  on  sight?"  suggested  Bob. 

"Not  entirely,"  grinned  Reggie.  "No,  they  used 
to  organize  a  sort  of  secret  gang  who  could  be  depended 
upon  to  hate  all  sorts  of  lawlessness.  This  gang  was 
called  the  Vigilance  Committee.  That's  what  we  need 
to  bolster  up  the  rep.  of  our  youngster  class." 

Bob  looked  serious.  "I  agree  with  you.  I'm  just  as 
ashamed  as  you  of  being  a  youngster  these  days.  But 
I'm  hanged  if  I  can  see  my  way  clear  to  any  such  scheme 
as  yours.  Clubs  or  fraternities  are  not  allowed  at  An- 
napolis. Also  we  don't  know  who'd  stick  by  us." 

"Watch  me !"  said  Reggie  with  the  same  sort  of  swag- 
ger he  had  used  on  the  occasion  of  promising  Ole  Han- 
sen's  election. 


IN  SECRET  195 

"I  am,  you  bet!"  Bob  was  looking  with  growing  ad- 
miration upon  the  singular  genius  of  his  friend  who  could 
figure  out  things  the  other  fellows  never  even  saw — till 
they  were  all  over. 

Next  morning  Tom  Poor  received  a  typewritten  let- 
ter in  the  mail.  It  read: 

DEAR  POOR — /  address  you  as  an  influential  member  of 
the  third  class.  Your  class  needs  jacking  up.  They 
can't  be  hazed.  And  the  law  doesn't  cover  all  the  crimes 
they  are  committing.  In  a  word  they're  too  fresh. 
Such  a  thing  as  a  midshipman  attending  a  hop  disguised 
as  a  girl  is  outrageous!  I  suggest  you  do  something  about 
it.  If  you  don't  the  authorities  will.  Signed — AN  IN- 
TERESTED SPECTATOR. 

He  read  it  a  second  time  to  Ole.  "Now  what  do  you 
know  about  that!" 

"I  know  it's  true,"  said  Ole  promptly.  "It'd  be  truer 
if  we  knew  some  of  the  other  things  that  are  going  on 
around  here.  First  time  I  ever  heard  of  the  girl  busi- 
ness." 

"I  suppose  one  of  the  officers  wrote  it." 

"Of  course,"  agreed  Ole.  "An  upperclassman  would 
have  come  to  us  direct." 

"How  about  one  of  our  own  class?" 

"Don't  believe  any  of  them  realize  how  bad  we're  get- 
ting in  with  those  above  us." 

For  two  days  Ole  worried  over  the  problem.  As  class 
president  it  was  up  to  him  to  discover  a  remedy.  On  the 
third  day  Bob  Gary  stopped  him  on  the  terrace. 

"Hansen,  some  of  our  class  are  playing  that  'inkwell- 
bomb'  game  again.  I  don't  like  to  tell  tales,  but  it's  a 


196  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

dangerous  trick.  Some  day  a  plebe  is  going  to  lose  an 
eye.  As  a  class  we're  getting  in  bad  over  it." 

"What  would  you  suggest?"  Memory  of  the  anony- 
mous letter  leaped  to  Ole's  mind. 

"A  sort  of  Vigilance  Committee,"  advised  Bob,  just 
as  Reggie  had  coached  him  to.  Reggie  felt  his  own  posi- 
tion was  too  delicate  for  him  to  approach  Hansen.  So 
after  he  had  sent  the  anonymous  letter,  he  simply 
watched  Hansen  for  signs  of  its  effect.  Having  given 
him  two  days  of  anxiety,  he  now  sent  Bob  with  the  sug- 
gested scheme  for  a  way  out. 

Ole  took  the  bait,  hook,  sinker,  and  all. 

"Just  the  hunch  I  am  looking  for!"  he  exclaimed. 

"But  how  are  you  going  to  pick  them?"  Even  Reg- 
gie was  in  doubt  about  this  point. 

"On  the  representative  basis,  of  course.  One  from 
each  company  in  the  brigade.  Also  one  athlete  and  one 
fusser.  Would  you  be  sore  if  I  put  you  down  for  the 
fusser  ?" 

Bob  laughed.  "You  couldn't  make  me  sore,  old  man. 
I'll  take  the  appointment  even  if  it's  half  an  insult." 

Ole  put  his  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder.  "You  know 
what  I  really  mean,  don't  you?  You're  the  best  one  to 
represent  the  crowd  that  does  go  in  for  girls  and  that 
stuff  more  than  Tom  Poor  and  I." 

"Look  here,  Hansen,"  burst  in  Tom,  "let's  cut  this 
idea  that  the  class  is  divided.  The  sooner  we  realize  that 
we're  third-classmen,  everyone  of  us,  the  sooner  we'll 
make  life  here  the  best  it  can  be." 

Ole  held  out  his  hand.  "Right  you  are!  And,  if 
what  Lieutenant  Ruggles  says  is  so,  this  class  spirit  is 
going  to  follow  us  around  the  world.  And  further,  he 
claims  that  it  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  wonderful  way 


IN  SECRET  197 

Navy  men  hang  together  no  matter  what  their  class. 
From  New  York  to  Melbourne,  Australia,  when  one 
officer  meets  another,  each  knows  the  other  has  a  whole 
blooming  class  behind  him — and  always  will  have!" 

Bob's  face  glowed.  "Think  of  the  years  we've  got!" 
he  cried. 

"I  do,"  said  Ole.     "Is  there  a  job  to  beat  it?" 

On  the  following  evening  fourteen  men  met  after 
evening  study  hour  in  Ole's  room.  In  low  and  earnest 
tones  he  explained  the  reasons  for  which  he  had  called 
them  together.  He  emphasized  the  absolute  need  for 
secrecy.  He  also  described  the  necessity  for  him,  as 
class  president,  to  be  kept  out  of  the  society. 

"And  finally,"  he  said  in  conclusion,  "this  must  never 
be  considered  as  any  sort  of  spy  system.  This  is  not 
Russia.  It  is  the  United  States  Naval  Academy.  We 
are  bonded  together  to  protect  the  honor  and  good  name 
of  the  class." 

"But  we  can  act,  can't  we?"  asked  one. 

"I  should  suggest  you  punish  an  offender  against  the 
class  in  such  a  way  that  everyone  will  know  it.  Let  the 
news  get  about  that  we  won't  stand  for  such  behavior 
as  a  few  dubs  have  been  guilty  of." 

"We  can  meet  here,  can't  we,  and  let  you  in  on  the 
cases  ?" 

"I'd  rather  you  wouldn't,"  said  Ole  with  some  regret. 

"It  isn't  that  I'm  not  all  for  you.  But  if  the  class 
loses  faith  in  me,  it  will  do  as  much  harm  as  some  of 
the  low  tricks  I've  told  you  about." 

After  the  taps  inspection,  Bob  got  quietly  out  of  bed 
and  went  into  Reggie's  room  to  relate  the  progress  of 
the  plan. 

"Man,"  he  told  him,  "you're  a  highbrow  of  the  high- 


198  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

browest  type!  Why  the  way  this  scheme  is  working 
makes  me  think  you'd  carry  off  a  Central  American  rev- 
olution with  one  hand  tied  behind  you!" 

Reggie  held  up  his  hand.  "Off  with  the  slush,"  said 
he.  "There's  a  job  on  hand  this  very  moment." 

"Not  tonight !" 

"Pretty  nearly.     Ought  to  be  planned  tonight." 

"Shoot— what  is  it?" 

"Chemical  job." 

"Gee!  Are  we  able  to  handle  anything  as  deep  as 
that?" 

"  Tisn't  deep — it's  high.  Highest  stink  that  ever 
stunk!" 

Reggie  held  his  nose  and  waved  an  expressive  hand  in 
the  semi-darkness.  Then  leaning  close  to  Bob,  he  whis- 
pered: 

"It's  that  same  crowd  who  go  in  for  the  inkwell  game. 
I  saw  them  after  chemistry  class  this  morning.  They 
mixed  a  pot  of  the  foulest  stinkerino  that  ever  tanned  a 
morgue.  One  winked  at  the  other  and  said  something 
about  guessing  this  would  make  'em  roll  over  and  flop !" 

"You  mean  these  youngsters  are  going  to  haze  with 
poison  gas?" 

"Can't  tell  yet  what  they're  up  to.  You  have  got  to 
have  one  of  the  committee  watch  them  close.  Stand 
by  to  nab  them  and  lay  'em  out  for  such  a  rotten  trick." 

"I'll  do  it  first  thing  in  the  morning." 

With  a  vast  pride  at  his  roommate's  mental  superior- 
ity, Bob  crept  back  to  his  little  iron  bedstead. 


CHAPTER  XX 

TRAITORS ! 

NEXT  morning's  recitation  of  the  third-class  selections 
in  chemistry  were  the  same  as  usual  except  that  the 
instructor  gave  a  brief  talk  on  the  nature  of  the  mole- 
cule beforehand. 

"Take  the  most  infinitesimal  particle  of  water  known 
to  man,"  said  he.  "Break  it  up  into  smaller  particles 
quite  invisible.  Then  divide  these  into  ten-thousand  even 
tinier  particles.  And  still  you  would  fall  short  of  the 
ultra-microscopic  form  of  the  molecule  itself." 

Silence  of  intense  interest  pervaded  the  room. 

The  officer  turned  to  his  blackboard.  With  a  piece  of 
chalk  he  drew  a  circle.  "Take  this  as  the  molecule,"  he 
continued.  "Imagine — " 

But  his  back  was  turned.  Imaginations  didn't  have  to 
work  so  hard  when  not  under  the  direct  eye  of  the  master. 

One  midshipman  watched  him  intently.  Two  more 
midshipmen  tiptoed  quietly  to  one  side.  When  the  in- 
structor faced  about  from  time  to  time  the  watcher 
snapped  his  fingers  lightly.  At  which  signal  the  other 
two  came  instantly  to  a  halt  and  assumed  an  air  of  the 
most  rapt  attention. 

A  fourth  midshipman,  partially  concealed  by  an  inter- 
vening desk,  watched  the  antics  of  the  other  three.  It 
was  Reggie.  The  other  three  were  the  "ink-well"  gang. 

The  two  moving  midshipman  reached  a  cabinet  which 

199 


200  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

was  locked.  One  inserted  a  key  that  fitted  with  strange 
ease.  The  cabinet  door  opened  without  attracting  the 
attention  of  the  instructor.  From  it  the  midshipmen 
took  several  bottles.  Each  bottle  was  secreted  on  their 
persons  by  means  of  slipping  them  in  the  slack  portion  of 
each  sock. 

Socks  make  excellent  pockets  on  occasion. 

At  noon  Reggie  cornered  Bob.  "They  hooked  the 
bottles  of  reagents  and  brought  them  back  to  quarters," 
he  said. 

"Who  did?  What  reagents?"  Even  Bob  had  trouble 
keeping  up  with  Reggie's  extraordinary  sleuth  work. 

"That  inkwell  gang.  I  told  you  they  were  concocting 
some  sort  of  stinkerino  yesterday.  Well,  today  they 
carried  off  enough  of  the  ingredients  to  make  a  quart  or 
more  of  the  stuff." 

"What  stuff?" 

"Don't  know,  unless  it's  something  like  potassium  iso- 
cyanide,  I  believe  they  call  it,  a  mixture  of  several  chem- 
icals that  makes  the  most  frightful  stench  when  poured 
out  and  allowed  to  evaporate." 

"You  think  they're  going  to  use  it  around  here?" 

"That's  what  we've  got  to  find  out !" 

"But  what  if  they  should?  They  may  not  get  caught 
and  it  won't  hurt  anyone." 

Reggie  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Gosh,  but  you're 
hopeless,  Bob.  Don't  you  know  that  it's  only  the  young- 
ster class  that  has  a  chemical  course  this  time  of  the 
year?  If  such  a  stunt  were  pulled,  say  in  a  public  place 
like  the  auditorium,  everybody  in  Annapolis  would  know 
it  was  one  of  us  that  did  it.  It  wouldn't  be  a  practical 
joke  with  any  real  humor  in  it.  Simply  we  get  in  worse 
and  worse  with  all  hands  and  the  ship's  cook.  It's 


TRAITORS!  201 

just  this  sort  of  ruffianism  we're  out  to  put  an  end  to." 

Bob  lost  no  time  reporting  the  conspiracy  to  Ole. 

"But  where  would  they  try  such  a  thing?"  Ole  was 
skeptical. 

"Some  public  place,"  said  Bob,  using  Reggie's  own 
words. 

"Theatre  you  mean  ?" 

"Possibly." 

Ole  shook  his  head.  His  faith  in  his  classmates  some- 
how couldn't  be  killed  with  the  ease  these  would-be  de- 
tectives killed  theirs. 

"The  only  thing  to  do  is  to  shadow  them,"  he  finally 
agreed.  "You  and  Tom  live  nearest  them.  Suppose 
you  two  keep  your  eye  on  them." 

Tom  assented  at  once.  His  sense  of  public  welfare 
induced  him  to  snap  at  any  weapon  to  use  against  a  com- 
mon enemy. 

"But  suppose  we  do  catch  them,"  he  said  after  thinking 
for  a  minute,  "will  that  help  any?  If  they  pour  out  a 
bottle  of  stink  and  we  land  on  their  necks  even  a  second 
later,  won't  that  just  make  four  third-classmen  instead 
of  two  involved?" 

This  view  of  the  problem  was  too  much  for  the  three. 
Bob  returned  to  Reggie  in  some  discouragement.  But 
when  he  explained  the  weakness  of  the  scheme,  Reggie's 
only  retort  was,  "use  your  bean!" 

"I  have." 

"It's  a  poor  quality  bean,"  chuckled  Reggie. 

"Go   on,"   growled   Bob.     "What's   the   catch?" 

"Why  lead  the  mob  away  of  course.  It's  a  trick  we 
used  to  get  off  at  prep  school.  Gilbert  has  flashlight  pel- 
lets for  sale  in  his  drug  store.  Take  some  with  you 
when  you  are  trailing  the  villains.  Soon  as  they  drop  the 


202  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

stinko,  light  a  pellet  and  yell  'fire.'  All  hands  will  get 
out  of  the  way  long  enough  for  you  to  throw  some  am- 
monia on  the  stinko  and  neutralize  it." 

"Sounds  crazy — certainly  sounds  insane!"  returned 
Bob.  "But  so  do  all  your  other  ideas." 

Tom  took  longer  to  convince  than  Bob.  Stubbornly 
he  clung  to  the  idea  that  throwing  the  flashlight  pellet 
was  just  as  bad  as  what  the  other  rascals  were  doing. 

"But  by  the  time  everyone  finds  out  it  isn't  serious  we 
shall  have  dumped  on  ammonia  and  killed  the  odor." 

"Too  deep  for  me,"  protested  Tom;  "but  I'm  game,  I 
will  say  that." 

By  Saturday  noon  Tom  and  Gary  representing  the 
Vigilants,  were  equipped  with  half  a  dozen  flashlight 
pellets  and  a  pint  bottle  of  household  ammonia. 

They  came  to  dinner  with  their  best  uniforms  on  pre- 
pared to  follow  the  suspects  out  in  town  if  necessary. 
The  minute  the  meal  was  over  they  rushed  to  the  main 
entrance  of  'Bancroft  Hall  and  waited. 

Not  till  nearly  an  hour  later  did  the  three  "inkwell" 
criminals  appear.  They  passed  without  noticing  their 
classmates  Poor  and  Gary,  lurking  behind  the  massive 
bronze  doors. 

"Did  you  see  that  one  carried  a  package?"  whispered 
Bob.  "Bottle  of  the  stuff,  I  guess." 

The  three  youngsters  took  the  main  walk,  not  towards 
the  town  gate,  but  exactly  bound  for  the  Superintendent's 
quarters. 

"Thundering  Cats!"  ejaculated  'Bob.  "They're  going 
to  the  Supe's!" 

Then  he  remembered  the  football  game  had  been  called 
off  for  that  afternoon,  and  a  reception  was  being  given  at 
Admiral  Treadwell's  house. 


TRAITORS!  203 

Attendance  at  such  affairs  is  by  no  means  compulsory 
to  any  midshipman.  But  it  is  desirable  that  members  of 
the  brigade  take  advantage  of  their  privilege  to  call 
upon  officers  and  to  be  present  at  certain  afternoon  func- 
tions. In  no  better  way  can  early  social  training  be  dis- 
tributed among  the  boys.  Thus  is  laid  the  foundation  of 
a  future  social  poise  that  shall  be  called  into  service  in 
the  courts  of  all  lands. 

The  large  and  well  appointed  house  was  crowded  with 
officers  and  their  wives,  midshipmen  and  their  visiting 
girls,  and  just  plain  stags.  To  the  latter  belonged  the 
small  group  who  were  in  course  of  making  Annapolis 
history. 

Bob  and  Tom  entered  a  few  minutes  later  than  the 
other  three.  They  didn't  wish  to  appear  to  be  following. 
Also  there  was  no  sure  evidence  that  this  was  to  be  the 
scene  of  the  coming  crime. 

"Think  of  the  outrageousness  of  it !"  exclaimed  Tom  in 
a  low  voice. 

"Unspeakable !"  agreed  Bob. 

They  spoke  to  the  Superintendent's  wife  within  sixty 
seconds  of  the  others'  presentation.  When  the  others  took 
ice  and  some  punch,  Tom  and  Bob  took  the  same  ice  and 
the  same  punch. 

The  three  "Inkwellers"  gathered  in  a  corner.  Instead 
of  politely  mingling  with  the  guests,  they  stood  together 
and  whispered.  Then  one  left  and  slipped  through  the 
door  into  the  hall. 

"Quick,"  directed  Bob.  "Stand  by  with  your  pellet  at 
this  end  of  the  hall,  and  I'll  chase  down  with  the  ammonia. 
I've  got  it  in  my  sock." 

By  the  time  Bob  reached  the  vestibule,  the  man  he 
sought  was  fumbling  in  his  coat  pocket.  A  paper  parcel 


204  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

suddenly  slipped  to  the  floor.  Bob  dived  for  it.  It 
must  be  the  bottle.  He  might  yet  save  the  situation  if  he 
could  prevent  its  horrible  contents  from  spilling. 

"Hands  off!"  snapped  the  owner. 

He  snatched  for  the  parcel  and  tore  part  of  the  wrapper 
off.  Through  the  hole  was  visible  the  toe  of  a  shoe. 

"Just  trying  to  be  decent,"  growled  Bob,  as  the  best 
excuse  he  could  invent. 

"Excuse  me,  too,"  said  the  other  with  a  silly  grin.  "I 
thought  it  was  another  package  I  have.  One  I  couldn't 
afford  to  drop!" 

Bob  turned  away  quickly  to  hide  the  satisfaction  he 
knew  must  be  in  his  face.  He  nearly  collided  with  Tom. 

"I  lit  it!"  exclaimed  the  latter.  "Ought  to  go  in  a 
moment." 

Without  replying  Bob  dashed  for  the  end  of  the  hall. 
He  realized  that  Tom  had  seen  the  parcel  drop  and,  think- 
ing the  "stuff"  must  be  out,  had  lit  his  pellet.  Bob's 
only  chance  was  to  douse  the  flashlight  before  it  exploded 
and  created  a  scandal  that  would  involve  the  innocent 
ones  instead  of  the  guilty. 

He  dived  for  it  on  his  hands  and  knees.  By  sheer 
good  fortune  the  pellet's  fuse  had  gone  out. 

"About  enough  of  that  behavior!"  said  a  stern  voice 
above  him. 

Bob  turned  to  find  himself  face  to  face  with  Lieutenant 
Ruggles. 

"You  may  leave  at  once !"  commanded  the  officer.  "We 
shall  discuss  this  matter  later." 

Crestfallen  and  discouraged,  Bob  sought  Tom  and  told 
him  what  had  happened.  Luckily,  the  three  villains 
were  also  taking  their  leave  so  the  pursuit  could  be  con- 
tinued. 


TRAITORS!  205 

"I  haven't  much  heart  for  it  now,"  confessed  Bob. 
"We've  got  ourselves  in  pretty  nearly  as  wrong  for 
running  races  up  and  down  the  Supe's  front  hall  as  if 
we  had  let  off  a  stink  bomb." 

At  the  gate  one  of  the  three  in  front  said  good-bye 
to  the  others.  The  midshipman  who  had  practically  ad- 
mitted to  Bob  his  having  the  bottle  of  "stuff"  in  his  pos- 
session continued  with  his  companion  into  town. 

At  the  Colonial  theatre  they  bought  tickets  to  the 
afternoon  movies.  Bob  and  Tom  entered  a  moment  later. 

The  two  ahead  took  seats  on  one  side  of  an  aisle  near 
the  front.  Shadow  of  an  overhanging  box  nearly  con- 
cealed them  from  the  audience.  An  exit  door  opened 
within  a  few  feet  of  them. 

Bob  and  Tom  dropped  silently  in  the  next  seat  to  the 
rear. 

For  ten  minutes  the  criminals  made  no  move  that  in 
any  way  could  be  connected  with  the  suspicions  of  the 
watchful  pair  behind. 

Then  one  glanced  at  his  watch.  "A  quarter  past  three," 
he  whispered.  "By  twenty  after  it'll  be  time  and  we  can 
get  out  right  here." 

Bob  and  Tom  caught  the  words.  They  were  on  their 
toes  at  once.  Tom  drew  one  of  the  pellets  and  his 
matches  from  his  pocket. 

Twice  more  the  midshipman  in  front  studied  his  watch. 
Then,  "Now,  it's  all  right,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

Instantly  both  leaned  over  for  their  hats.  A  clinking 
sound  came  from  under  the  seat.  Both  rose  quickly  and 
strode  through  the  exit  into  the  air. 

"They've  done  it !"  exclaimed  Bob.  "I  heard  the  bottle 
break." 

Without  wasting  time  to  reply,  Tom  dived  low,  struck 


206  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

a  match  to  the  pellet,  and  sailed  it  under  the  seats  ahead 
where  it  landed  with  a  slight  thud  against  the  orchestra 
rail. 

"Puff!" 

A  blinding  flash  of  light  filled  the  hall.  Clouds  of 
smoke  rolled  up  across  the  screen,  obliterating  the  pic- 
tures. 

"Fire!"  screamed  a  woman. 

Instantly  the  lights  were  turned  on.  The  audience 
leaped  to  their  feet.  There  was  every  evidence  of  a  serious 
panic. 

"Silence !"  thundered  a  voice.  Tom  sprang  to  the  backs 
of  two  seats.  "Slowly  out — slowly — women  first — slowly 
' — lots  of  time — " 

He  called  the  words  in  the  heavy  well-controlled  tones 
he  had  learned  two  years  before  when  heaving  the  lead 
from  a  battleship's  deck,  while  the  whipping  gale  did 
its  best  to  snatch  his  voice  from  his  very  throat  and  toss 
it  far  from  the  anxious  navigator  on  the  bridge  above. 

"Slowly—" 

And,  to  the  amazement  of  those  who  feared  the  greater 
danger  of  a  terrified  mass  of  people,  the  audience  took 
heed. 

"Slowly — lots  of  time — "  here  and  there  were  saner 
minds  who  took  the  cry  up. 

Suddenly  a  civilian  stepped  up  to  'Bob.  "Who  is  that 
fellow?" 

"Tom  Poor,  third-classman,"  replied  Bob,  before  he 
realized  what  he  was  doing.  His  only  thought  at  the  time 
was  in  praise  of  the  great  presence  of  mind  and  command 
of  voice  his  friend  was  displaying  in  the  emergency. 

Then  it  was  all  over.  The  crowd  were  out.  The 
stranger  had  disappeared.  The  volunteer  firemen  that  ar- 


TRAITORS!  207 

rived    had    voiced    their    disgust    and    disappointment. 

"Better  make  the  side  door,"  suggested  Bob.  Before 
he  went  he  looked  under  the  seat  ahead  of  him.  On  the 
floor,  instead  of  the  bottle  of  chemicals  as  he  had  ex- 
pected, he  found  an  empty  candy  jar! 

The  bomb  had  never  been  sprung! 

"Heaven  help  us!"  groaned  Bob  on  the  way  back. 

"Take  more  than  Heaven  to  clear  us  out  of  this  after- 
noon's work!"  was  Tom's  dismal  reply. 

"You  don't  know  the  worst  yet,"  continued  Bob.  "I 
was  fool  enough  to  tell  a  stranger  your  name.  I  thought 
he  was  going  to  thank  you  for  your  sense  in  quieting 
the  audience." 

"And  instead,"  supplied  Tom  bitterly,  "you  just  let 
him  know  who  set  the  opera  house  on  fire!" 

With  a  heavy  heart  Bob  went  up  to  his  room.  He 
hoped  Reggie  wouldn't  be  there.  At  this  moment  he 
hated  his  roommate.  The  whole  plan  had  been  so  im- 
practicable, so  silly,  from  the  very  beginning  he  felt 
ashamed  for  having  let  the  other  drag  him  into  it. 

"It's  just  I'm  so  stupid  that  when  a  simp  like  Reggie 
busts  out  with  an  idea  I  fall  for  it  at  once,  no  matter  how 
imbecile  it  may  be!" 

Having  delivered  this  self-denunciation,  Bob  threw  him- 
self upon  the  bed  and  fell  asleep. 

He  was  awakened  by  the  bugle  call  for  supper  forma- 
tion. He  had  just  time  to  throw  on  his  uniform  and  dash 
down  the  four  flights  of  steps. 

Near  the  Duty  Officer's  room  he  saw  the  crowd  break- 
ing up.  By  the  time  he  reached  the  point  where  they  had 
been  standing  he  caught  a  sniff  of  a  dreadful  stench.  He 
stopped  dead. 

"Not  here!"  he  exclaimed. 


208  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

He  stepped  up  and,  opening  the  door  a  crack,  peeped 
in.  The  room  had  been  lately  swabbed  out.  A  uniform 
suit  was  hung  over  the  back  of  a  chair.  It  was  streaked 
and  burnt  with  what  looked  like  acid.  Despite  that  all 
windows  were  open  the  odor  that  filled  the  room  was  suf- 
focating and  horrible. 

Bob  stepped  into  ranks  just  as  the  "late  bugle"  blew. 
He  was  conscious  of  a  queer  sense  of  unreality.  The 
bomb  had  been  sprung.  But  all  the  trail  that  he  and  Tom 
had  followed  so  faithfully  had  led  to  nothing! 

An  awful  suspicion  crossed  his  mind.  Could  it  be  pos- 
sible that  Reggie  had  put  them  on  it  on  purpose  to  con- 
ceal the  villainy  in  quarters? 

At  the  table  he  leaned  across  to  Reggie.  "Look  here, 
you  fool,"  he  whispered  fiercely,  "how  about  all  that  dime 
novel  stuff  you  hung  on  Tom  and  me  ?  Didn't  you  know 
the  game  was  to  be  played  right  here  in  Bancroft  Hall  ?" 

The  insult  missed  its  mark  entirely.  "Keep  your  shirt 
on,"  returned  Reggie  calmly. 

After  supper  third-class  meeting  was  published  for 
seven-fifteen. 

Tom  and  Bob  went  silently  and  with  the  gloomiest 
forebodings  to  the  hall. 

Ole  took  the  table.  "Fellows,"  he  announced,  "the 
Duty  Officer,  Lieutenant  Ruggles,  asked  me  to  have  you 
all  up  here  tonight.  He  has  something  to  say  to  you. 
Here  he  is  now." 

The  officer  climbed  up  and  faced  his  audience  with  the 
pleasant  smile  that  had  made  him  so  popular  with  them. 
Every  midshipman  well  knew  this  smile,  and  how  it  was 
worth  a  square  deal  on  every  occasion.  Not  that  Ruggles 
wasn't  as  strict  as  the  strictest.  But  somehow  he  hadn't 
entirely  forgotten  his  own  midshipman  days,  and  he  made 


TRAITORS!  209 

an  effort  to  see  the  midshipman's  point  of  view  in  every 
difficulty. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  began,  "I  have  got  you  here  for  a 
purpose  that  cannot  be  covered  in  any  possible  way  than 
by  an  informal  talk.  The  talk  will  be  brief.  It  has  to  do 
with  class  spirit." 

Tom  and  'Bob  heaved  sighs  part  relief,  part  anxiety. 

"Yesterday,"  continued  the  speaker,  "one  of  your 
chemistry  instructors,  a  classmate  of  my  own  by  the  way, 
informed  me  that  he  suspected  a  certain  three  midship- 
men of  making  what  I  believe  you  call  a  'stink  pot/ 
He  had  no  basis  for  making  an  official  report.  Yet  he 
felt  that  not  only  the  third  class  but  the  whole  Academy 
would  suffer  by  the  perpetration  of  such  a  nasty  and 
pointless  joke  in  some  public  place.  I  agreed  with  him." 

"Me  too,"  echoed  a  score  of  youngsters  under  their 
breath. 

"Today  I  spotted  the  three  scoundrels  on  their  way 
to  the  Superintendent's  house.  This  was  in  the  nature 
of  an  alibi.  Two  of  them  went  on  out  to  the  theatre 
for  still  further  evidence  that  they  were  in  no  way  con- 
nected with  the  crime.  Then,  between  three  and  three- 
thirty,  when  it  was  known  I  would  be  on  inspection, 
the  third  man,  who  had  remained  behind,  sneaked  into 
my  room  in  quarters  and  smashed  the  bottle  against  the 
wall.  I  caught  him  red-handed." 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence.  Then,  with  one  ac- 
cord, the  class  broke  into  a  storm  of  honest  applause. 

Ruggles  smiled  and  held  up  his  hand.  "Thank  you," 
he  said,  "for  feeling  that  way  about  it.  I  truly  believed 
that  the  class  as  a  whole  was  against  such  behaviour." 

He  fumbled  in  his  pocket  and  drew  out  a  paper. 

"One  more  thing.     Just  to  show  you  how  the  actions  of 


210  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

one  or  two  may  reflect  upon  the  whole  class,  let  me  read 
you  this.  It  is  a  note  the  Admiral  just  received  from  the 
owner  of  the  Colonial  Theatre.  'In  the  name  of  my 
clients  permit  me  to  thank  you,  Admiral  Treadwell,  for 
the  remarkable  action  of  one  of  your  midshipmen  in  sav- 
ing us  from  a  disastrous  panic  this  afternoon.  He  is  a 
third-classman  named  Poor,  I  think.'  " 

"  'Ray  for  Tom  Poor !"  yelled  someone. 

"Don't  cheer  him,"  laughed  the  Lieutenant.  "Any  one 
of  you  would  have  done  the  same  I  think.  The  main 
point  is  that  the  Admiral  said  when  he  handed  me  the 
note:  'Why  I  thought  that  was  the  class  giving  us 
so  much  trouble.  Guess  I'm  mistaken.'  " 

"  'Ray  for  the  Youngster  Class !"  came  from  the  back. 

"Now  you're  talking  sense !"  retorted  the  officer.  "And 
I'll  leave  you  to  cheer  it  if  you'll  just  let  me  say  for  the 
benefit  of  one  midshipman — "  he  looked  sharply  at  Bob 
for  an  instant  too  short  for  anyone  to  notice — "that  a 
small  unpleasantness  at  the  Superintendent's  this  after- 
noon has  completely  slipped  my  mind !" 

Amid  the  cheers  of  their  jostling  classmates  and  quite 
unseen  by  even  the  men  jammed  closest,  Bob's  hand 
went  out  to  Tom's,  then  met,  gripped,  and  dropped. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

PIRATES 

"I'VE  got  to  get  away!"  complained  Tom. 

"Me  too,"  agreed  Ole  despondently. 

"And  have  my  own  ship." 

"And  sail  where  we  please !" 

"No  one  around  to  tell  us  what  to  do  and  when  to 
doit!" 

"You  bet!" 

This  conversation  was  the  beginning  of  the  most  haz- 
ardous and  yet  most  nearly  naval  adventure  that  befell 
Tom  during  his  midshipman  days. 

Football  season  had  been  succeeded  by  basketball,  wrest- 
ling, and  other  gym  sports.  The  semi-annual  examina- 
tions with  all  their  terror  were  forgotten  in  the  excite- 
ment of  crew  baseball,  and  track.  June  week  had  come 
and  gone. 

And  then,  instead  of  the  cruise,  a  plan  was  put  in 
effect  to  keep  a  small  number  of  the  new  second  class,  to 
which  Tom  belonged,  at  Annapolis  for  the  purpose  of 
helping  in  the  instruction  of  entering  plebes. 

"Three  months  of  drill,  drill,  drill!"  Tom  described 
it  after  it  had  finally  come  to  an  end. 

"Or  else  grinding  back  and  forth  over  Chesapeake  Bay 
trying  to  make  a  lot  of  farmers'  and  bankers'  sons  find  out 
which  end  of  an  oar  ought  to  be  put  into  the  water,"  con- 
tinued Ole. 

Now  both  were  in  a  mutinous  mood.    'Both  felt  it 

211 


212  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

necessary  to  break  away  from  the  galling  discipline  long 
enough  to  blow  off  steam  at  least. 

"How  about  a  cruise  of  our  own  ?"  suggested  Tom. 

"No  boat,"  growled  Ole.  "The  first-classmen  have  al- 
ready put  in  for  the  big  sloop.  They  expect  to  go  as  far 
as  Hampton  Roads." 

The  same  hot  August  afternoon  both  boys  wandered 
down  to  the  harbor  front  of  the  old  town  for  a  mess  of 
Pinkney's  softshell  crabs.  Pinkney  was  one  of  the  old- 
time  darkies  who  had  been  a  slave  as  a  boy.  His  whole 
life  he  had  spent  in  oyster  or  crabbing  boats  running  in 
and  out  of  the  ports  of  Baltimore  and  Annapolis. 

"The  trouble  with  hiring  a  boat  is  the  cost  of  it,"  con- 
tinued Tom,  as  they  seated  themselves  at  the  little  round 
table. 

Pinkney  cocked  up  his  ear.  "Does  you  gemmen  wish  a 
sailing  vessel,  suh?"  he  asked  showing  his  white  teeth 
in  a  broad  grin. 

"We  certainly  do,"  said  Ole  quickly.  "We've  decided 
to  turn  pirates,  Pinkney,  and  we're  looking  for  a  ship." 

The  old  darkey  scratched  his  head.  "I'se  got  a  boat 
what  would  be  the  very  thing,  suh."  He  stepped  to  the 
door  and  pointed  to  a  little  two-masted  schooner  lying 
at  anchor  near  the  sea-wall. 

"Exactly  what  we  want !"  exclaimed  Tom. 

"You  kin  have  him,  suh,"  continued  the  proprietor, 
"on  one  condition." 

"Name  it." 

"An'  dat  is,  suh,  that  you  give  him  a  coat  of  paint  when 
you-all's  finished  an — "  he  cleared  his  throat — "an 
kinda  boost  up  old  Pinkney's  shop  next  winter." 

Both  midshipmen  laughed.  "Easy  enough,"  agreed 
Tom.  "And  I'm  glad  to  advertise  you  all  I  can.  You've 


PIRATES 


213 


got  the  best  oyster  house  in  Annapolis  right  now.  These 
new  and  flossy  places  are  stealing  your  trade  just  be- 
cause they  happen  to  be  up  in  the  more  fashionable  part 
of  town  and  burn  electric  lights." 

On  Thursday  of  the  following  week,  September  leave 
began.  The  two  pirates  took  a  third  man  into  their  crew 
in  order  to  lighten  somewhat  the  routine  work  of  keeping 
the  boat  in  shape  and  cooking.  He  was  an  old  retired 
quartermaster  known  as  Jimmie  Reeftackle.  He  had 
joined  the  Navy  back  in  the  days  of  square  riggers  and 
still  loved  a  little  taste  of  salt  air. 

Provisions  for  three  weeks  were  put  aboard  and  enough 
gasoline  for  the  little  auxiliary  engine  which  was  installed. 
This  "kicker"  was  not  powerful  enough  to  cruise  with, 
but  enabled  the  boat  to  pull  out  of  the  glassy  calms  which 
always  precede  a  summer  gale  on  the  Bay. 

"Where  to,  Jimmie?"  asked  Ole  when  the  harbor  en- 
trance light  dropped  out  of  sight. 

"Depends  upon  what  you're  after,"  was  the  slow  reply. 
"I've  knowed  some  as  was  bound  to  fetch  gold  and  others 
what  was  after  good  and  proper  cargoes  of  merchandise. 
There's  still  others  what  takes  to  the  sea  for  the  fun  of 
it.  Them  last  is  what  we'd  call  fresh-water  sailors,  an' 
they  make  for  the  inside  places  when  it  starts  to  blow." 

Tom  followed  this  recital  without  a  smile.  He  knew 
the  old  fellow  was  half  joking.  'But  he  also  knew  that 
there  was  a  great  deal  of  truth  in  his  words. 

"Jimmie,"  he  said  after  a  moment,  "suppose  you  had 
been  in  jail  for  nearly  a  year ;  in  jail  at  hard  labor.  And 
you  suddenly  found  yourself  out.  You  found  yourself 
aboard  a  ship  and  could  do  anything  you  wanted.  What 
would  you  do?" 

Jimmie's  eyes  glistened.     He  was  over  sixty,  but  his 


214  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

mind  was  still  young.  He  knew  Tom  meant  the  Naval 
Academy  when  he  spoke  of  jail.  And  he  well  knew  how 
the  pair  longed  for  something  exciting  after  twelve  months 
of  mental  hardship  that  was  far  worse  than  any  kind  of 
rock-breaking  a  convict  might  do. 

"I  tell  you,  sir,"  his  face  solemn  as  a  preacher's, 
"if  'twere  me  as  was  loosed  from  the  pen,  and  if  this 
were  the  ship,  I'd  know  exactly  what  I'd  do." 

"Name  it,"  said  both  listeners  in  a  single  voice. 

"Bootleggers!"  was  the  whispered  reply. 

"Pish !"  laughed  Ole.     "There  aren't  any." 

Jimmie  took  a  turn  around  the  tiller  with  the  main 
sheet.  "There  aren't?"  he  echoed.  "Did  you  ever  see 
a  fisherman  who  couldn't  show  you  a  bank  where  they'd  be 
fish?"  He  paused  for  the  question  to  sink  in.  "Well, 
did  ye  ever  know  an  old  sailorman  who  couldn't  say  as 
where  they  was  a  bootleg  full  of  liquor  ?" 

And  then  he  told  his  story. 

A  fresh  afternoon  breeze  filled  the  sails.  The  craft 
was  what  is  known  as  a  "Bugeye,"  a  type  peculiar  to 
Chesapeake  Bay.  Few  small  sailing  vessels  in  the  world 
are  speedier.  The  warm  sunshine  beat  down  on  the  two 
tanned  midshipmen  stretched  out  on  the  narrow  deck  in 
their  undershirts. 

It  seemed  that  vessels  were  coming  from  Europe  with 
cargoes  of  wine.  Under  cover  of  the  fogs  off  the  eastern 
shore  of  Maryland,  the  shore  open  to  the  Atlantic  Ocean, 
these  cargoes  were  being  landed.  The  cases  were  carted 
across  the  Bay  side  and  picked  up  by  a  variety  of  boats 
which  transported  the  forbidden  stuff  to  Baltimore  and 
Annapolis. 

"There's  ye  chance,"  concluded  the  old  tar,  "to  make 
yerselves  famous." 


PIRATES  215 

"But  the  risk  of  it — I  don't  mean  I'm  afraid,  because 
I  brought  along  our  revolvers — isn't  there  a  chance  of  our 
seeming  to  be  implicated  in  it?"  Tom  recalled  the  stink- 
bomb  experience  and  shuddered  to  think  how  close 
to  serious  trouble  perfectly  honest  work  may  bring  a 
man. 

"Only  that  they'll  take  a  pot  shot  at  you,"  said  Jimmie. 
"But  on  the  other  hand  the  Government's  offered  a  re- 
ward of  a  thousand  dollars  for  the  arrest  of  any  boat's 
crew  dealing  in  this  business." 

"Big  George"  broke  in  Ole;  "if  that  spindleshanks  of 
a  Van  Brunt  could  pull  off  the  stunt  he  did  last  year  in 
Prance  and  come  out  with  a  pocket  full  of  coin,  certainly 
two  he-men  like  us  ought  to." 

So  by  sun-down  the  plans  were  made  to  cruise  off  a 
series  of  small  inlets  which  Jimmie  Reeftackle  had  pointed 
out  on  the  chart  as  the  most  likely  place  for  heading  off 
one  of  the  smugglers'  boats. 

Neither  midshipman  realized  how  seagoing  he  had  be- 
come. Of  course  Tom  had  been  in  the  fleet  long  enough 
to  have  collected  a  smattering  of  nautical  information. 
But  the  winter's  course  in  navigation,  in  piloting,  in  sea- 
manship, in  engines,  even  in  meteorology  or  weather  con- 
ditions, all  lent  their  aid  in  making  such  a  cruise  as  this 
a  matter  almost  of  natural  habit  with  the  two  boys. 

"Can  we  make  that  bight  before  dark  comes  on  ?"  asked 
Jimmie.  He  had  a  guess  of  his  own  on  his  tongue,  but 
wished  to  try  out  the  young  sailors. 

Tom  glanced  at  the  chart.  "We  have  to  clear  a  couple 
of  shoals,"  he  mused.  "Then  we're  making  about  four 
knots  and  can  count  on  at  least  two  reaches  after  we 
tack." 

Ole  picked  a  logarithm  book  from  the  little  shelf  near 
the  companionway.  "Just  a  minute,"  he  asked,  and  ran 


216  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

his  finger  down  the  columns  of  figures.  A  short  computa- 
tion and  the  answer  was  ready:  "It'll  take  us  two  hours 
and  five  minutes,  working  the  traverse  by  trigonometric 
solution  of  the  triangles,"  said  he. 

The  weatherbeaten  face  beside  him  crinkled  with  good 
humor.  "Triggernumbertry,  sir,"  he  remarked,  "is  very 
fine  I  admit.  I  seen  it  used  to  hit  a  target  on  the  other 
side  of  a  hill  in  Cuba  once.  But  I've  a  dollar  bill  in  the 
pocket  of  my  other  pants  what  says  we  won't  reach  that 
place  you've  picked  for  as  much  as  four  hours." 

"Take  you !"  laughed  Ole,  his  professional  reputation  at 
stake. 

Four  hours  later  Jimmie  Reef  tackle  added  a  second 
dollar  bill  to  the  one  he  had  wagered.  "Mathematics  is 
all  right  in  their  place,"  he  explained  sagely.  "But  even 
on  a  man-o'-war  there's  a  sight  you  lads  oughta  have 
learned  to  make  her  safe  on  the  sea." 

As  the  two  boys  rolled  into  their  blankets  that  night 
Tom  turned  and  with  a  sleepy  voice  remarked  to  Ole: 
"Does  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  we're  learning  our  trade 
just  about  every  minute  of  the  time  we  spend  in  Annapolis 
or  around  it?" 

"Sure,"  was  the  grunted  reply.  "Only  this  kind  of 
learning  don't  hurt  the  way  the  chalk  and  blackboard 
does." 

For  nearly  two  weeks  the  buccaneers  wandered  up  and 
down  the  broad  blue  waters  of  Chesapeake  Bay.  Unin- 
habited harbors  and  islands  they  explored  with  all  the  thrill 
of  discovering  new  land.  They  fished  and  swam  and 
crabbed.  Several  heavy  blows  drove  them  to  race  for 
shelter.  Once  the  little  gas  engine  went  on  the  blink  and 
all  their  book  knowledge  failed  to  put  it  right  again. 


PIRATES  217 

They  took  it  apart  and  cleaned  it  and  fitted  the  intricate 
nuts  and  valves  and  screw  together  again.  But  still  she 
sputtered  and  refused  to  move. 

By  this  time  Jimmie  Reeftackle  was  getting  interested. 
He  had  never  seen  the  inside  of  an  engine  before.  But 
he  realized  that  with  the  low  supply  of  fresh  water  and  no 
wind  in  sight  he  should  be  uncomfortable  before  many 
hours  had  passed. 

He  determined  to  try  a  little  experiment  of  his  own. 
He  got  a  glass  and  filled  it  with  gasoline  from  the  tank. 
Then  he  chuckled. 

"See  here,  Mister  Poor,"  he  said,  holding  out  the  glass. 
"If  thet  stuff  ain't  floatin'  on  water  I'll  eat  me  bonnet !" 

He  was  right.  Water  had  got  into  the  tank  and  was 
getting  into  the  engine  so  that  nothing  more  than  a  snort 
and  a  wheeze  could  be  produced. 

"Once  more  does  commonsense  win  over  the  highbrow 
bookworms,"  announced  Ole.  "We're  learning  faster 
right  out  here  than  ever  we  did  in  Mahan  Hall." 

"A  certain  kind  of  knowledge,"  admitted  Tom.  "Which 
is  the  reason  a  naval  officer  has  got  to  be  a  jack  of  all 
trades." 

Next  morning  Tom  was  awakened  by  Jimmie  tugging 
at  his  shoulder.  "They've  come  out !"  the  old  fellow  ex- 
claimed. 

"Who's  come  out?  Where?"  Tom  had  forgotten  that 
the  true  purpose  of  the  expedition  was  to  capture  an 
enemy. 

"Them  bootleggers!" 

He  shook  Ole  and  dashed  up  on  deck.  The  sun  was 
not  up  yet.  Way  over  by  Kent  Island  in  the  crimson  glow 
of  the  dawn  rode  the  white  hull  of  a  small  trim  craft  at 
anchor. 


218  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"It's  them,  all  right!"  agreed  Ole  excitedly. 

Through  the  glasses  could  be  seen  several  men  on  the 
deck  of  the  suspicious  craft.  Soon  after  sunrise  a  boat 
pulled  ashore  from  her  and  returned  an  hour  later.  Dis- 
tance was  too  great  to  show  whether  any  contraband  was 
taken  aboard  or  not. 

"We'll  have  to  run  in  closer,"  suggested  Tom. 

So  anchor  was  got  up  and  the  Bugeye  swung  in  to- 
wards the  yacht.  Care  was  used  to  take  a  course  that 
would  indicate  that  she  was  a  fishing  boat  and  had  no 
interest  in  any  other  vessels. 

Very  soon  it  was  evident  that  the  yacht  was  a  bootlegger 
without  a  shadow  of  a  doubt.  Every  time  her  boat  re- 
turned the  men  on  deck  could  be  plainly  seen  carrying 
aboard  a  dozen  or  so  cases. 

"Gosh!  And  they  do  it  in  broad  daylight!"  Tom's 
convictions  about  criminals  were  that  they  did  the  main 
part  of  their  dirty  work  under  the  cover  of  the  night. 

"Why  not?"  asked  Jimmie.  "We're  supposed  to  be  a 
bunch  of  ignorant  fishermen  who  ain't  got  any  idea  what 
goes  on  in  this  here  Bay  besides  the  fishes  we're  after." 

Near  sunset  the  Bugeye  was  brought  to  anchor  around 
a  little  sand  spit  low  enough  for  a  watch  to  be  kept  upon 
the  bootlegger.  As  she  was  evidently  going  to  spend 
the  night  there,  the  two  boys  determined  to  slip  aboard  and 
look  her  over.  Surely  in  this  deserted  spot  there  would 
be  no  question  in  the  criminal's  mind  about  the  foolishness 
of  keeping  a  watch. 

By  ten  o'clock  all  cabin  lights  were  out  on  the  yacht. 
Only  a  dim  anchor  lantern  marked  the  spot  where  she 
swung  easily  to  the  tide. 

Tom  and  Ole  lowered  the  little  dory  with  which  they 
were  equipped  and  rowed  softly  toward  her. 


PIRATES  219 

"Brought  my  gun  along  to  be  on  the  safe  side,"  said 
Tom. 

"Me  too,"  said  Ole.  "But  for  heaven's  sake  don't 
start  anything  like  that  unless  you're  sure  we're  on  the 
right  trail." 

"But  there's  not  the  shadow  of  a  doubt,"  Tom  replied 
"Why  we  even  saw  them  putting  their  stuff  aboard." 

Still  Ole  was  skeptical  about  the  identity  of  the  sus- 
pects. He  was  until  the  dory  was  brought  silently  along- 
side and  he  slipped  on  deck.  There  before  his  eyes  and 
piled  to  the  rail  were  several  dozen  cases.  He  put  his 
hand  down  in  the  darkness  and  felt  the  contents. 

"Bottles!"  he  whispered.     "Guess  you're  right." 

"Guess  we'd  better  have  a  look  forward  and  see  how 
many  there  are,"  was  the  low  reply. 

The  two  started  a  stealthy  tiptoeing  towards  the  pilot 
house.  In  the  utter  darkness  except  for  the  dimmest 
starlight  objects  about  the  deck  were  practically  invisible. 

Suddenly  Tom  put  his  foot  down  on  something  soft. 
Before  he  could  remove  it  his  ankle  was  grasped  in  an 
iron  grip  and  a  harsh  voice  cried,  "Who's  that?"  imme- 
diately several  other  sleepers  about  the  deck  stirred  and 
grunted. 

In  the  fraction  of  a  second  Tom  realized  how  small  was 
his  chance  of  escaping.  But  he  took  what  chance  there 
was  and  acted.  Throwing  his  entire  weight  upon  the 
imprisoned  foot  he  swung  savagely  with  the  other.  His 
toe  encountered  what  felt  like  a  human  jaw.  There  was 
a  groan  and  a  thud,  and  the  hand  on  his  foot  fell  limp. 

"Quick!  Overboard!"  he  hissed  to  Ole.  Already  the 
crew  were  awake.  Cries  of  "Stop  them!  Thieves!" 
rang  in  their  ears  as  they  plunged  over  the  rail. 

Tom  swam  under  water  as  long  as  he  could.     Then 


220  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

he  came  up  easily  so  as  to  avoid  a  splash.  Ole  was 
nearby.  "Make  for  the  spit !"  he  told  him.  Then  dived 
under.  The  whine  of  a  rifle  bullet  sang  past  his  ear 
and  plunked  into  the  water  not  five  feet  away. 

By  the  time  the  pair  had  made  the  beach,  lights  were 
all  about  the  yacht's  deck.  Clank  of  her  chain  could  be 
heard.  She  was  getting  under  way.  Ole  and  Tom  raced 
across  the  sandy  neck  and  reentered  the  water. 

By  the  time  they  clambered  aboard  the  Bugeye,  the 
yacht  was  standing  out.  Then  they  stood  down  in  their 
direction., 

"Slivering  bullropes!"  cursed  Jimmie  Reeftackle. 
"And  now  haven't  you  young  pirates  let  yerselves  in  for 
a  mess !" 

Ole  and  Tom  followed  his  bony  finger.  The  yacht  had 
broken  out  her  mainsail  and  jib  and  was  crowding  on 
all  speed.  A  small  searchlight  swept  the  water. 

"They're  after  ye !"  yelled  Jimmie  and  rushed  forward 
to  the  anchor  gear. 

While  Tom  and  Ole  frantically  loosed  the  sails,  the 
Bugeye  was  set  adrift  by  freeing  her  anchor.  As  she  fell 
away  into  the  wind  the  men  aboard  the  yacht  opened  fire. 
All  three  of  the  pirates  immediately  took  cover  behind 
their  tiny  deckhouse.  Jimmie  managed  the  lines  by  lead- 
ing them  to  a  cleat  near  the  mast. 

In  order  to  pass  clear  into  open  water,  the  Bugeye  had 
to  run  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  the  entrance.  For- 
tunately, however,  the  smugglers,  in  their  haste  to  over- 
take them,  cut  the  spit  too  close  and  ran  aground. 

The  fire  slackened  while  all  hands  worked  to  get  her 
off.  Meanwhile,  the  Bugeye  fled  like  a  bird  before  the 
wind.  As  she  wore  no  lights  she  soon  disappeared  in  the 
<iarkness. 


PIRATES  221 

"Say,"  breathed  Ole  when  the  yacht  was  well  behind, 
"I'm  of  no  mind  to  go  on  with  this  fool  game.  Guess 
we're  able  to  get  through  Annapolis  without  capturing 
any  bootleggers." 

"Or  needing  any  rewards,"  agreed  Tom. 

Jimmie  Reeftackle  chuckled  over  their  change  of  heart. 
"Guess  you're  right,"  he  said.  "But  I'd  liked  to  have  had 
some  real  old  rum  for  myself." 

"You  old  scoundrel !"  gasped  Tom.  "So  that's  why  you 
put  us  up  to  this  job.  Just  for  punishment  I  sentence 
you  to  get  us  up  the  Severn  River  and  home  by  morn- 
ing." 

And  he  did.  Sleepy  as  the  two  boys  were,  they  stayed 
awake  and  watched  their  companion  renew  the  skill  of  his 
windjamming  days.  Hour  by  hour  the  wind  increased. 
Yet  not  an  inch  of  canvas  did  he  take  off.  The  lee  rail 
was  out  of  sight  in  the  foaming  water  for  minutes  at 
a  time. 

By  eight  o'clock  they  had  turned  over  the  Bugeye  to 
her  owner  and  were  safely  back  in  quarters  changing  into 
civilian  clothes  for  leave. 

Near  the  main  gate  Lieutenant  Ruggles  stopped  them. 
"Just  the  lads  I  can  use,"  he  said. 

"At  your  service,  sir,"  said  Tom  and  saluted. 

"An  old  friend  of  mine  has  just  arrived  and  he  wants 
me  to  bring  two  people  out  to  lunch." 

"Out  where  to  lunch,  sir?"  asked  Tom  with  a  sudden 
sinking  of  his  heart. 

"To  his  yacht.  He's  Marbury  Jackson,  the  New  York 
capitalist.  Was  a  graduate  of  Annapolis  back  in  the  sev- 
enties and  went  out  into  civil  life  after  a  few  years  at 
sea.  Made  a  fortune  in  oil." 

Thus,  to  their  dismay  the  two  pirates  found  themselves 


222  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

a  few  hours  later  boarding  the  very  yacht  they  had  so 
barely  escaped  the  night  before. 

Would  they  be  recognized  ?  And  what  about  the  cases  ? 
Could  it  be  possible  the  respectable  Marbury  Jackson 
would  descend  to  any  such  crime  against  the  laws  of  his 
country.  But  then  it  was  a  well-known  fact  that  men  who 
had  been  accustomed  to  liquor  for  years  would  go  to 
almost  any  length  to  get  it  now. 

The  cases  had  disappeared  from  deck!  And,  to  Ole's 
and  Tom's  great  relief,  there  was  no  sign  they  had  been 
recognized. 

"Strange  he  doesn't  say  anything  about  it,"  whispered 
Tom  as  they  descended  to  the  beautiful  panelled  mess 
room. 

"Guess  he  doesn't  wish  it  known  that  he's  a  smuggler," 
replied  Ole.  "That's  the  way  I  size  the  thing  up." 

But  the  facts  were  sufficient  to  clear  both  middies' 
minds : 

"One  of  the  reasons  I  wanted  you  aboard,"  explained 
the  old  gentleman,  "is  connected  with  a  little  unpleasant- 
ness we  had  last  night.  I  always  stop  down  there  at 
Piny  Point  for  some  of  that  sulphur  water  the  springs 
there  give.  Got  ten  cases  of  it  yesterday." 

Tom's  foot  touched  Ole's  under  the  table.  In  the 
language  of  feet  it  said:  "Gosh,  what  a  whopper!" 

"And  last  night,"  continued  the  capitalist,  "we  were 
attacked  by  a  gang  of  thieves.  We  chased  them  away  and 
would  have  caught  their  craft,  a  small  Bugeye,  and  had 
them  all  hung  if  my  fool  of  a  navigator  hadn't  put  us 
on  the  beach." 

"Hung !"  gasped  Ole,  unconscious  that  he  spoke. 

"Yes,  hung !"  The  owner  brought  his  fist  down  fiercely. 
"And  that's  why  I  felt  the  need  of  your  company  today. 


PIRATES  223 

I  wanted  to  realize  that  we  are  developing  the  very  men 
who  will  make  piracy,  even  such  as  I  met  last  night,  ab- 
solutely impossible!"  He  glared  first  at  Tom  and  then 
at  Ole. 

After  lunch  he  led  the  boys  to  a  storeroom  for- 
ward. Without  explanation  he  unlocked  the  door  and 
opened  it.  "It  would  please  me,"  he  said,  "if  you  young 
gentlemen  would  examine  these  bottles  and  see  if  they 
contain  anything  but  water." 

Tom  took  one  out  with  a  worried  look.  He  wasn't 
thinking  of  bottles. 

"On  the  other  hand,"  continued  the  speaker,  "I  have 
a  bottle  of  scotch  whiskey  in  my  cabin.  Or  I  did  have. 
Jimmie  Reeftackle — my  old  friend  Jimmie — drank  the 
most  of  it.  Took  half  a  bottle  this  morning  before  he 
would  tell  me  who  the  pirates  were  I  didn't  catch." 

"We  thought  we  were  right,  sir,"  ventured  Tom. 

"So  did  the  Kaiser!"  was  the  stern  reply. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  HOP 

SECOND-CLASS  winter  which  followed  was  severest  of 
all.  New  branches  of  professional  studies  developed  in 
nearly  all  of  the  academic  departments.  New  lines  of 
engineering  and  mathematics  cropped  up.  Even  the 
"star"  midshipmen,  those  standing  highest  in  their  class, 
were  worried. 

"And  on  top  of  it  all,  I've  got  to  have  still  more  trou- 
ble!" groaned  Tom. 

"Go  on,  you  grouch,"  commented  Ole,  his  nose  buried 
in  a  calculus. 

Tom  remained  silent.  Commander  Rudd,  the  Com- 
mandant's aide,  had  called  him  in  just  before  supper  and 
added  the  final  burden  to  his  already  overwrought  nerves. 

"Says  he's  got  a  girl  for  me!"  Tom  shook  his  fist  at 
his  roommate.  "Can  you  beat  that?" 

Ole  dodged  in  mock  terror.  "Well,  don't  punish  me," 
he  protested. 

Tom  rose  and  began  to  pace  the  floor.  He  faced  a  new 
problem.  His  ill-humor  was  not  really  directed  at  the 
Commander  or  the  girl,  but  at  himself.  In  the  past  two 
years  he  had  from  time  to  time  encountered  a  number  of 
the  nice  girls  about  Annapolis.  And  he  had  in  a  quiet 
way  made  friends  with  some  of  the  ladies  of  the  station 
on  occasions  of  the  infrequent  official  receptions.  But 
always  had  he  been  supported  by  safe  numbers  of  other 
midshipmen  present. 

Now  for  the  first  time  he  was  charged  with  the  re- 

224 


THE  HOP  225 

sponsibility  of  actually  taking  a  girl  to  one  of  the  winter 
dances,  or  "hops"  as  they  are  called.  And  he  was  morti- 
fied to  feel  so  unequal  to  the  occasion.  Commander  Rudd 
had  been  very  reasonable  in  his  request. 

"Poor,"  he  said,  "you  won't  mind  having  dinner  next 
Saturday  night  at  my  quarters,  will  you?" 

"Why  certainly,  sir,"  assented  Tom  with  undisguised 
delight.  Very  fresh  was  his  memory  of  Maryland  fried 
chicken  the  Commander's  cook  was  famous  for. 

"And,  another  thing,"  continued  the  crafty  Commander. 
"My  niece  is  down  for  the  week-end.  It  would  please 
me  if  you  took  her  to  the  hop  afterward.  I  know  you 
will  like  her." 

"Thank  you,  sir,  for  choosing  me,"  Tom  managed  to 
say.  His  voice  sounded  dry  and  unnatural  to  himself, 
but  he  had  a  dim  feeling  of  pride  that  he  could  manage  to 
produce  such  a  reply  when  in  truth  he  would  much  rather 
have  said :  "It  is  an  honor,  sir,  but  really  girls  are  not  in 
my  line.  They're  nice  enough.  Sometimes  I  wish  I 
knew  more  of  them.  But  it  has  just  happened  that  I  have 
never  had  the  opportunity  to  get  used  to  their  ways  and 
I — well,  I'd  rather  not  tackle  this  job  if  you  would  just 
as  soon  let  me  off." 

And  now  to  Ole  he  was  trying  to  lead  up  to  asking  for 
help.  Before  he  could  go  on,  the  door  opened  and  Bob 
Cary  entered. 

"Hello,  men !"  The  newcomer  waved  a  card.  "Got  a 
treat  for  you  both." 

Ole  laid  down  his  pencil  and  looked  Bob  Cary  steadily 
in  the  eye  for  about  ten  seconds.  Then  he  said : 

"Stack  of  bibles,  Bob,  is  she  as  pretty  as  that?" 

"Cross  my  heart  and  the  royal  yard!"  promptly  swore 
the  gallant  midshipman.  "She's  the  daughter  of  a  Con- 


226  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

gressman.  He  is  one  of  the  big  men  in  the  government. 
Probably  in  line  for  the  next  cabinet." 

Tom  drank  in  the  rapid  words.  It  was  a  new  game 
to  him,  this  dance  card  business,  and  here  was  exactly 
the  training  he  needed. 

"That's  what  you  told  me  about  Miss  What's-Her- 
Name's  father,  King  Pin  of  the  Nation  and  all  that,"  said 
Ole  grimly.  "But  how  about  this  girl  herself  ?  I'm  not 
going  to  dance  with  her  father." 

Bob  advanced  to  the  table  and  leaned  over  confiden- 
tially. "A  single  word  about  her  is  sufficient,"  he  ex- 
plained in  a  low  tone.  "It  is  rumored  that  she  is  to  be 
Harrison  Fisher's  model  for  the  Navy  Christmas  calen- 
dars this  year.  Now  will  you  have  one — or  do  I  and  my 
lady  stand  insulted  by  your  quibble?"  He  drew  him- 
self up  dramatically. 

Tom  didn't  wait  to  hear  more.  In  a  step  he  reached 
his  desk,  drew  out  a  small  blank  dance  card,  and  abruptly 
left  the  room. 

"Is  he  sore  because  I  didn't  ask  him  ?"  asked  Bob.  "I 
thought  he  didn't  go  in  for  this  hop  gag." 

"He  doesn't.  But  tonight  he's  in  the  same  boat  with 
you,  old  man.  Lovely  girl  with  a  famous  father;  never 
set  eyes  on  her,  but  got  to  escort  her  to  the  gym  and  see 
she  has  every  dance  taken.  Guess  he's  caught  a  hint 
from  your  line." 

Ole  was  right.  By  the  time  he  finished  speaking  Tom 
had  reached  the  room  of  a  certain  "Pip"  Colby  who  from 
time  to  time  had  given  evidence  of  his  admiration  for  all 
Tom  said  or  did. 

"'Evening,  Pip." 

"  'Evening,  Tom.  What's  up,  you  look  busy  as  a 
merry  little  hive?" 


THE  HOP  227 

"Nothing  much,  except  everybody's  chasing  me  for  a 
dance  with  a  girl  I've  got  down  for  this  week's  hop.  Just 
wanted  to  be  sure  you  didn't  lose  out." 

"Why  thanks,  old  top.  Sure  is  decent  of  you  to  think 
of  me." 

"Yes,  Pip.  She's  the  niece  of  Commander  Rudd. 
Father's  got  a  yacht  or  something  like  that  up  in  New 
London.  Shall  I  put  you  down  for  two?" 

"You  bet.  Say,  man,  do  you  think  the  old  skate  might 
be  in  port  when  the  practice  squadron  is  up  there  next 
summer  ?" 

"Like  as  not." 

Again  in  the  corridor  Tom  stood  still  for  a  moment  and 
mopped  his  forehead  with  his  handkerchief.  He  could 
scarcely  believe  the  ease  with  which  he  had  been  able  to 
palm  off  two  dances  on  his  friend. 

It  never  occurred  to  him  to  picture  the  girl  exactly. 
He  recalled  vaguely  all  those  he  had  met  in  the  past,  how 
they  had  stared  at  him  with  a  kind  of  chilly  curiosity  as 
if  he  had  been  some  sort  of  animal  out  of  the  zoo.  With- 
out exception  they  had  always  made  him  feel  as  if  he 
ought  to  hunt  up  a  mirror  as  soon  as  possible  and  find 
out  whether  it  was  his  hair  standing  on  end  or  his  collar 
upside  down  that  was  making  them  look  so  secretly 
amused  at  his  appearance. 

Not  till  years  afterwards  did  he  realize  that  in  the  first 
instant  of  encounter  the  girls  had  felt  exactly  the  same 
doubt  and  discomfort  that  he  did.  But  when  they  quickly 
discovered  that  Tom  Poor  lacked  the  experience  or  the 
social  poise  to  do  anything  but  stand  silent  and  embar- 
rassed, they  immediately  had  the  fun  of  making  the  best 
they  could  of  his  discomfiture. 

So  now  it  was  natural  that  Tom  should  have  in  mind 


228  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

one  of  those  superior  creatures  who  might  wear  pretty 
clothes  and  have  plenty  to  say,  but  not  for  a  moment 
miss  the  chance  to  make  him  as  uncomfortable  as  pos- 
sible. 

"I'm  game,"  he  told  himself  through  his  teeth.  "And, 
after  all,  it's  the  naval  officer's  duty  to  take  part  in  things 
like  dances  and  receptions.  On  the  other  hand  I  cer- 
tainly am  going  to  give  the  gang  a  chance  to  help  me 
out." 

And  he  did.  In  the  space  of  half  an  hour  he  had  filled 
every  single  line  on  the  dance  card.  He  could  hardly  be- 
lieve it  except  that  he  had  made  each  midshipman  write 
his  name  opposite  the  dance  numbers  as  a  sort  of  receipt 
for  the  agreement. 

"Guess  I'm  pretty  good  at  talking  up  a  thing,"  he 
mused  on  his  way  back  to  his  room.  But  he  would  have 
thought  differently  if  he  could  have  heard  what  went  on 
behind  him  in  each  study  he  had  visited.  It  was  some- 
thing like  this: 

"Well,  what  do  you  know  about  Tom  Poor  taking  a 
girl  to  a  hop  !" 

"Thought  he  was  a  woman-hater." 

"Woman-hater  nothing.  That's  where  you  don't  un- 
derstand his  kind.  Has  sense  enough  to  stand  back  and 
wait  till  he  can  get  a  pippin  for  a  partner.  I  jumped  at 
the  chance.  Would  have  taken  five  if  he  had  let  me !" 

Poor  Tom.  He  had  yet  to  learn  the  lesson  that  a  mid- 
shipman's reputation  for  taking  pretty  girls  to  hops  is 
almost  as  delicate  as  his  reputation  for  honor.  Let  him 
lug  in  one  single  "gold-brick"  and  forever  afterward  his 
friends  are  leery  of  his  taste.  His  only  hope  then  is  to 
trade  dance  for  dance  with  another  man,  knowing  that 


THE  HOP 


229 


sooner  or  later  the  other  man  will  palm  off  his  "brick" 
as  well. 

Two  days  later  a  note  from  the  Commander  warned 
Tom  that  the  young  lady  was  due  on  the  afternoon  train 
from  Washington  and  suggested  that  she  might  like  to 
see  the  Academy  grounds.  The  Commander  himself 
would  be  absent  on  duty,  but  Tom  would  find  her  pleas- 
ant company  and  would  certainly  oblige  his  superior 
officer. 

"Pleasant  company!"  growled  Tom.  "Wonder  what 
he  thinks  I  am?" 

Tom  found  out  soon  enough  what  he  was :  "Plain, 
simple,  undecorated  idiot!"  were  his  own  words. 

This  was  the  way  it  came  about:  At  three  he  was  at 
the  station.  His  face  was  long,  gloomy,  doleful,  and 
cross.  His  expression  was  exactly  as  if  he  had  given  up 
a  date  to  see  the  Army-Navy  football  game  in  order  to 
be  a  pall-bearer  at  a  funeral. 

The  train  came  to  a  grinding  stop.  It  was  nearly  full 
of  girls  down  for  the  evening  festivity.  There  were  tall 
girls  and  short  girls,  fat  ones,  skinny  ones,  and  in-be- 
tween-ones. All  wore  their  trimmest  hats  and  suits. 
The  array  of  brightly  colored  headgear  roused  even  Tom 
from  his  misery. 

"She  will  wear  a  brown  suit,"  Commander  Rudd  had 
told  him.  "And  is  about  medium  height  and  medium 
looks." 

Tom  counted  eleven  girls  that  answered  exactly  to  that 
description ! 

He  thought  he  spied  a  twelfth  when  suddenly  some- 
one said :  "You're  Tom  Poor,  aren't  you  ?" 

Tom  spun  around  to  find  himself  looking  into  what 


230  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

he  thought  were  the  brownest  and  shiniest  eyes  he  had 
ever  seen.  It  was  a  girl  in  a  blue  hat.  And  she  was 
smiling.  But  she  somehow  wasn't  grinning  in  that  high- 
and-mighty  way  that  all  the  other  girls  had. 

"But  he  said  a  brown  hat,"  faltered  Tom,  taking  off 
his  own  bonnet. 

"Oh,  I  just  told  him  that,"  chuckled  the  girl,  "because 
I  wanted  to  have  a  first  look  at  the  man  who  was  to  have 
charge  of  me.  I  wanted  to  see  exactly  how  full  of  grief 
he  would  be  over  the  prospect  of  taking  a  strange  girl  to 
a  hop!" 

To  his  surprise  Tom  found  speech  came  easily. 
"Grief  is  the  word !"  he  exclaimed.  "Did  you  ever  try  a 
dark  horse  yourself?" 

"Hitched  to  one  now,"  was  the  prompt  reply.  She 
took  his  arm  as  a  signal  for  him  to  plow  through  the  gay 
multitude. 

At  Commander  Rudd's  quarters  the  girl  insisted  on 
having  a  bite  to  eat.  Tom  detested  tea  but  took  a  cup 
for  company.  From  somewhere  his  companion  dug  up 
half  a  huge  chocolate  cake.  While  he  ate  she  talked. 

"I  like  midshipmen,"  she  said  as  simply  as  if  she  were 
remarking  that  it  was  going  to  rain  next  day. 

"Do?"  popped  Tom  between  bites. 

"Yes.  You're  different  from  the  men  at  other  col- 
leges. You  know  my  brother  is  a  junior  at  Princeton." 

Tom  looked  at  her.  He  had  suddenly  remembered  that 
he  had  absolutely  forgotten  her  name. 

"Yes,  they  are  so  much  older  than  you  midshipmen  are. 
I  mean  they  always  seem  to  know  exactly  what  to  do  and 
what  to  say,  and  how  to  do  it  and  say  it." 

"Jones,  Smith,  Crosby,  Robinson,"  Tom  was  repeat- 


THE  HOP  231 

ing  to  himself.  For  the  life  of  him  he  couldn't  bring 
back  that  name. 

"Of  course  I  realize  the  reason  for  it,"  went  on  the 
girl.  "Uncle  Ruddy  has  told  me  about  it.  He  says  they 
teach  you  to  be  gentlemen  here,  to  dance  and  have  proper 
manners.  But  the  system  is  too  mathematical.  It's  too 
military.  All  day,  every  day,  but  Sunday  you  work  and 
study.  Then  a  cruise  for  more  work  and  study  all  sum- 
mer long — with  maybe  a  few  days  here  and  there  for 
small  afternoon  parties  ashore.  And  then  but  a  month 
to  go  back  home  to  Maine  or  Texas  or  wherever  you  come 
from.  That's  what  keeps  you  young  and  different." 

"Holmes,  Hammond,  Rogers,  Butler,"  ran  Tom's  mind 
in  time  with  his  cake-filled  jaws. 

Suddenly  he  waked  up  to  two  facts :  First,  he  could 
eat  no  more  cake;  second,  this  girl  was  easy  to  talk  to. 
She  was  the  kind  who  probably  wouldn't  mind  being 
asked  what  her  name  was.  He  tried  her. 

"Elsie  Pepper,"  she  laughed.  "I  was  wondering  when 
you  were  going  to  identify  me." 

"By  George!"  was  Tom's  prompt  thanks,  "you're  the 
first  girl  I  ever  met  in  my  life  whom  I  would  dare  ask 
her  name." 

Miss  Pepper  rose.  "Now  I  know  you're  a  sailor, 
sir,"  she  declared,  "because  you  have  begun  to  blarney 
me." 

This  was  the  one  stroke  necessary  to  create  a  new 
self-possession  in  Tom.  He  had  at  last  fooled  a  woman 
into  believing  he  had  the  courage  to  flatter!  At  least  so 
he  thought.  It  never  entered  his  mind  that  Commander 
Rudd  had  written  his  niece: — 

"Poor  is  a  nice  chap.    A  bit  too  much  of  an  athlete 


232  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

and  a  man's  man  though.  If  you  are  nice  to  him  1  be- 
lieve he  will  be  good  company.  Jolly  him  along.  He  is 
going  to  be  a  leader  when  he  becomes  a  first-classman  next 
year  and  you  will  help  him  by  bringing  him  out  a  bit. 
Some  day  he  will  thank  you  for  it." 

Thus  Tom,  all  unconscious  that  he  was  receiving  an 
essential  part  of  his  education,  led  the  girl  through  the 
grounds.  When  he  discovered  his  friends  looking  hard 
at  the  girl  and  not  at  him,  he  began  to  give  her  a  few 
sidewise  glances  himself.  He  found  that  he  had  not  half 
appreciated  how  pretty  she  was.  The  thought  of  it  gave 
him  a  glow  of  satisfaction.  He  realized  that  none  would 
see  him  without  being  inclined  to  compliment  the  taste 
of  Tom  Poor  in  girls. 

"Guess  they  will  realize  now  why  I  don't  take  the 
trouble  to  bother  with  the  usual  kind,"  he  thought  com- 
placently. 

He  took  her  back  just  in  time  for  him  to  reach  supper 
formation.  Soon  as  ranks  were  broken  he  dashed  up  and 
jumped  into  his  dress  uniform.  For  an  unusual  length 
of  time  he  worked  over  his  hair.  Never  before  had  he 
realized  that  there  was  a  cowlick  behind  that  persisted  in 
sticking  straight  into  the  air.  Finally,  with  the  aid  of 
Ole's  mirror  and  a  cake  of  soap,  he  managed  to  plaster 
the  lock  in  place. 

When  he  reached  Commander  Rudd's  house,  Miss 
Pepper  had  not  come  down  stairs. 

"Like  her?"  asked  the  officer. 

"Yes  indeed,  sir,"  exclaimed  Tom  with  more  enthusi- 
asm than  he  meant.  He  could  feel  his  face  getting 
hot. 

The  Commander  kindly  looked  aside  and  continued :  "I 
knew  you  would,  Poor.  She's  a  good  sort.  I  have  no- 


THE  HOP  233 

ticed  that  you  don't  attend  many  hops.  You  should. 
Possibly  girls  don't  appeal  to  you  much.  I  can  remember 
the  time  when  I  thought  they  were  silly  bores.  But  you 
will  find  as  time  goes  on  that  you  will  be  thrown  a  great 
deal  with  women  in  the  social  life  the  Navy  brings.  It 
is  necessary  for  you  to  understand  them  not  only  to  be 
able  to  entertain  them,  but  because  there  are  times  when 
women  have  a  considerable  hand  in  the  destinies  of  both 
men  and  governments." 

A  light  step  sounded  in  the  hallway.  The  curtains 
parted  and  a  vision  in  white  satin  stood  before  the  two 
men.  "Aha!"  laughed  the  lady,  "lecturing  the  young 
sailor  on  the  wiles  of  women?" 

"Pretty  nearly,"  agreed  the  Commander.  "He  may 
have  to  buy  a  million  dollar  gown  like  that  one  of  these 
days!" 

The  girl  put  her  head  on  one  side  and  looked  gravely 
at  Tom.  "Let's  see,"  she  said  slowly,  "you  are  some- 
thing of  a  mathematician,  aren't  you,  Mr.  Poor?" 

"Finished  calculus,  and  just  starting  mechanics,"  re- 
plied Tom,  quite  off  his  guard. 

"Then  tell  me,  please  sir,  how  many  times  the  pay  of 
an  ensign  in  the  Navy  goes  into  a  million  dollars?" 

But  the  jibe  didn't  hurt.  Somehow  nothing  she  said 
did  hurt.  Tom  joined  heartily  the  laugh  that  followed. 
Then  dinner  was  announced. 

A  week  later  he  tried  to  remember  whether  it  was 
chicken  or  turkey  he  had  to  eat  that  night.  He  couldn't. 
Miss  Pepper  was  the  only  image  that  remained. 

Which  explains  the  real  tragedy  of  the  evening:  At 
nine  he  and  she  started  for  the  gymnasium  where  the  hop 
was  held.  As  they  approached  the  great  granite  build- 
ing and  the  strains  of  the  magnificent  Annapolis  marine 


234  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

band  floated  out  over  the  dark  campus,  he  began  to  wish 
they  still  had  ten  miles  to  go. 

Tom  left  his  partner  at  the  door  of  the  dressing-room. 
As  he  turned  to  give  his  hat  and  coat  to  the  attendant 
he  found  himself  confronted  by  about  a  dozen  midship- 
men. 

"Any  dances  left?"  asked  one. 

"Don't  forget  those  two  of  mine!"  warned  another. 

"Just  one  more,  Tom,"  pleaded  a  third  earnestly. 

Then  the  horrible  truth  flashed  over  him:  He  had 
bargained  away  every  single  dance  with  the  girl.  In  his 
cocksure  opinion  that  all  women  were  alike  Tom  Poor 
had  not  only  arranged  to  treat  this  one  with  rudeness  by 
not  dancing  with  her  himself,  but  he  had  deprived  him- 
self of  what  he  would  at  that  moment  have  given  the 
friendship  of  every  man  he  faced  for. 

But  the  code  held.  He  had  parcelled  out  the  dances. 
He  had  to  stand  by  and  take  his  medicine.  He  took  it. 
Through  the  whole  sad  evening  he  stood  in  the  stag  line 
and  watched  Miss  Pepper  dance  and  talk  and  sit,  and 
dance  again  without  his  help.  If  she  thought  anything 
of  this  queer  arrangement  she  made  no  sign. 

Only  on  the  way  home  she  once  took  his  arm  for  a  few 
steps  and  said:  "Really,  Tom  Poor,  wasn't  it  just  that 
I  was  a  dark  horse  that  made  you  so  foolish?" 

"Please  forgive  me,"  begged  Tom.  It  was  all  he  could 
say.  "Aren't  you  coming  again?" 

"Next  year,"  was  the  regretful  answer. 

"I'd  wait  a  million!" 

"Sailor  talk  again?" 

"Oh,  I  am  a  fool!"  groaned  Tom. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

AT   HIS  OWN   GAME 

TOM'S  chance  came  at  the  beginning  of  first-class  year. 

The  day  the  brigade  reported  back  from  September 
leave,  all  hands  clustered  around  the  bulletin  boards  to 
see  who  had  got  the  coveted  appointments  as  cadet  officers. 

The  Annapolis  brigade  is  divided  into  four  battalions, 
each  battalion  in  from  four  to  eight  companies.  The 
Brigade  Commander  as  well  as  commanders  of  battalions, 
are  chosen  from  the  first  class.  These  'honors  are  based 
upon  the  midshipman's  all  around  record.  The  "Five 
Striper,"  as  the  Brigade  Commander  is  called  from  the 
five  stripes  on  his  arm,  is  usually  an  athlete,  a  man  of 
the  highest  academic  standing,  and  popular  both  with  the 
midshipmen  and  the  officers. 

Tom  and  Reggie  each  got  three  stripes;  that  is,  each 
was  appointed  a  company  commander.  Each  had  some 
popularity  and  each  had  an  athletic  record.  But  Tom's 
standing  in  the  class  studies  was  not  high  enough  to 
warrant  a  higher  rank;  Reggie's  limited  athletics  and 
one-sided  popularity  were  against  him. 

The  two  room-mates  were  even  more  pleased  than  the 
honored  ones.  Said  Ole  Hansen: 

"Fine  byzonis,  Tom  old  scout !  Now  you  will  be  abie 
to  give  'em  a  man's  work  when  it  comes  to  drill.  You've 
got  the  endurance  to  lead  'em  to  Chicago  and  back  on 
the  same  march !" 

Bob  Cary  was  less  extravagant,   though  equally  en- 

235 


236  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

thusiastic.  "It  may  be  silly,"  said  he,  "but,  Reggie,  I'm 
hanged  if  I  don't  envy  the  way  you'll  be  able  to  bust  out 
there  at  dress  parade  and  march  up  and  down  where  all 
the  girls  can  see  you !" 

"Piffle!"  returned  Reggie.  "Is  that  the  kind  of  am- 
bition you've  got?"  Reggie  tried  hard  to  forget  he'd 
had  exactly  the  same  ambition  for  three  years. 

Tom  probably  got  the  hunch  about  his  chance  first. 

"How  about  this  company  competition?"  he  asked  Ole. 

"Same  as  usual.  Just  another  way  to  make  it  impos- 
sible for  any  midshipman  to  escape  athletics  of  some 
sort." 

"I  know,  but  what  are  the  chances  this  year  ?" 

Ole  thought  for  a  minute,  then  got  out  a  pencil  and 
paper  and  began  to  figure.  He  shook  his  head. 

"Looks  like  the  tenth  company's  got  the  prize.  They 
have  more  of  the  star  athletes  with  them  than  any  other." 

"Who's  the  three  striper?" 

"Van  Brunt." 

"The  heck  he  is !"  Tom  sprang  to  his  feet.  "And  just 
for  that  I'm  going  to  show  him  where  to  get  off !" 

"Just  for  that — "  chimed  in  Ole,  "he  didn't  pick  his 
company.  It  was  assigned  to  him.  It's  up  to  him  to 
make  what  he  can  out  of  it." 

"Which  is  what  I'm  driving  at,"  was  the  enthusiastic 
response.  "Here  am  I  with  the  fourth  company  and  not 
an  athletic  star  among  'em,  save  possibly  myself.  We 
haven't  got  the  spirit  and  we  haven't  got  the  men." 

"You  haven't  got  a  show  is  what  I'd  say,"  growled 
Ole. 

Tom  rubbed  his  hands.  "That's  the  very  finest  fix  I 
could  be  in.  I  swore  I'd  beat  Van  Brunt  at  his  own 
game.  This  is  exactly  the  kind  of  game  he's  a  top- 


AT  HIS  OWN  GAME  237 

notcher  in :  the  kind  where  it  takes  brains  instead  of  beef, 
the  kind  where  a  fellow  has  to  be  a  strategic  sort  of  cuss 
to  win  out!" 

Tom  sat  down  and  began  to  figure  himself.  He  laid 
out  a  list  of  all  the  items  that  count  in  the  year's  company 
competition.  First  were  the  teams.  Company  champ- 
ionship in  football,  baseball,  swimming,  track,  and  all 
the  other  games  each  counted  ten  points  for  first  place, 
seven  for  second,  and  five  for  third. 

"It'll  be  the  same  as  other  years,"  he  told  Ole.  "Nearly 
every  company  will  have  its  specialty.  One  gang  will 
turn  out  a  cracker- jack  company  football  team;  another 
a  first-class  baseball  team;  another  a  cutter's  crew.  But 
none  of  them  will  take  the  trouble  to  try  for  more  than 
one  or  two  lines  of  sport,  certainly  not  all." 

"Too  much  work  for  the  company's  commander," 
commented  Ole.  "He's  the  bird  that  has  to  organize 
and  put  through  all  the  teams." 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  skin  that  Van  Brunt  aggregation 
if  I  have  to  stay  up  nights  to  do  it !"  vowed  Tom. 

Reggie  was  equally  certain  about  his  own  victory,  though 
far  from  putting  the  same  determination  into  it. 

He  did  some  adding  himself.  He  did  it  in  h:r;  head — 
which  was  the  kind  of  a  head  he  had,  instead  of  the  slower 
but  surer  brains  of  Tom  Poor. 

"Like  taking  candy  from  a  child!"  he  told  'Bob  Gary. 
"The  chief  things  that  count  when  you  add  them  all  up 
together  are  the  athletes.  Each  man  on  a  varsity  team 
counts  five  for  the  company;  each  on  a  second  team 
counts  three." 

"But  suppose  some  company  works  up  a  lot  of  good 
company  teams?" 

"Not  a  chance.     Too  much  trouble,  besides  the  brains 


238  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

required.  Even  Tom  Poor  himself  couldn't  pull  a  stunt 
like  that.  And  when  you  add  all  the  stars  I've  got — 
Calkins  and  Bullock  on  the  varsity  football,  Gerard  and 
Hope  on  baseball,  Faraday  crew,  and  at  least  five  others, 
they  stand  for  a  score  that  can't  be  beat." 

Tom  let  his  company  have  a  week  to  get  used  to  him. 
There  were  over  eighty  midshipmen  in  it  of  the  four 
classes.  Yet  despite  the  company  occupied  one  floor  of 
one  wing  of  Bancroft  Hall,  there  was  a  diversity  of  in- 
terests among  the  eighty  that  made  Tom's  task  a  well- 
nigh  impossible  one. 

One  night  he  called  them  together. 

"Fellows,  we're  gojing  to  win  the  company  colors,"  he 
announced. 

"You  bet,  Tom !"  agreed  one  of  his  own  class,  a  "clean 
sleever,"  one  who  was  denied  the  privilege  of  wearing 
any  stripes  because  he  had  received  no  rank  in  the  bri- 
gade. 

Tom  shook  his  head.  "No,  we're  going  to  win  with- 
out depending  on  me — except  in  a  general  way." 

"But  places  on  the  varsity  teams  count  a  lot!"  pro- 
tested a  second  classman. 

"I  know  they  do.  And  that's  just  the  reason  I  am 
anxious  to  clean  up  without  taking  the  velvet  a  few  stars 
stand  for." 

The  clean-sleever  pushed  forward.  "Don't  be  stub- 
born, Tom.  There  are  at  least  three  companies  who  have 
twenty  points  or  more  just  to  start  with." 

"Yes,  and  suppose  you  were  out  for  the  heavyweight 
boxing  belt — as  I  believe  you  were.  And  you  figured 
you  could  win  it  every  year  because  you  weighed  thirty 
pounds  more  than  anyone  else.  Suppose  you  counted 
on  those  thirty  pounds  so  much  that  you  didn't  take  the 


AT  HIS  OWN  GAME  239 

trouble  to  train.  And  then  someone  came  along  whom 
you  hadn't  heard  of,  who  weighed  about  as  much,  and 
had  trained  besides.  Then,  where'd  you  be?" 

The  company  laughed.  Tom's  point  was  a  good  one. 
But  where  did  his  outfit  come  in?  He  soon  told  them. 

"My  plan  is  simple,"  he  continued.  "But  it  must  be 
kept  quiet.  We're  going  to  be  like  the  fellow  who  weighs 
pretty  nearly  as  much  as  the  champion  but  does  extra 
training  on  the  side  to  win  out." 

"But  we  haven't  got  the  makin's  of  a  team  of  any 
sort!" 

"You're  wrong,"  returned  Tom  stoutly.  "Every  man 
here  has  had  from  one  to  three  years  of  good  hard  drill, 
clean  living,  best  sort  of  food,  sea  cruises,  and  actual 
gym  and  field  instruction  in  at  least  one  branch  of  ath- 
letics. That's  the  Annapolis  course  alone.  Now  what 
is  the  difference  between  you  people  and  the  varsity 
teams  ?" 

"Fifteen  million  miles,  I'd  say,"  muttered  the  clean- 
sleever. 

"Just  where  you're  wrong,"  laughed  Tom.  "The  dif- 
ference except  for  a  few  pounds  here  and  there  is  chiefly 
in  training.  Why,  when  I  used  to  be  in  the  fleet,  we'd 
have  divisions  aboard  ship  who  couldn't  have  touched 
this  company.  Yet  they  used  to  go  out  and  clean  up  the 
championships  at  Guantanamo  regularly  as  clockwork. 
What  made  'em  do  it?  Simply  that  here  and  there  was 
a  divisional  officer  who  recognized  what  real  training 
meant.  He  could  have  made  a  high-class  football  team 
out  of  a  lot  of  boarding-school  girls — so  long  as  they'd 
do  exactly  what  he  said." 

Though  unconvinced,  the  company  liked  Tom  well 
enough  to  try  the  scheme  he  had  suggested. 


240  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"Prove  it  with  a  football  team,"  suggested  Ole,  "and 
they'll  be  docile  for  the  other  lines." 

"Exactly  what  I'm  going  to  do,"  declared  Tom. 

First  of  all  he  measured  up  and  weighed  the  eighty-five 
midshipmen.  One  at  a  time  he  got  a  line  on  their  speed 
and  other  physical  qualities. 

His  own  varsity  football  duties — he  had  been  made 
captain  of  the  team — kept  him  from  handling  the  prob- 
lem personally.  He  divided  the  company  into  four  sec- 
tions and  appointed  leaders  instead.  Each  leader  was 
given  the  job  of  turning  out  a  certain  number  of  football 
men. 

Word  soon  got  about  that  certain  companies  were  go- 
ing in  for  football.  This  discouraged  many  other  com- 
panies from  trying  that  line. 

"Captain  of  the  Navy  team  ought  to  have  a  company 
team,"  was  Reggie's  personal  consolation. 

"But  he's  not  playing  himself."  Bob  felt  somehow 
that  it  was  possible  to  take  too  much  for  granted. 

Late  in  the  season  on  a  Wednesday  afternoon,  the 
championship  was  played  off.  The  eighteenth  company 
had  real  talent  in  it.  It  had  heavy  men  and  fast  men, 
men  whose  football  training  had  put  them  on  the  regular 
squads.  They  had  easily  won  all  the  games  up  to  date. 

Tom's  team  was  much  smaller.  Some  had  never 
kicked  a  football  over  a  goal  post  in  their  lives  up  to  the 
present  year.  But  they  had  speed.  Their  plays  were 
smooth-oiled  as  clockwork.  And  some  of  their  forward 
passes  and  other  specialties  would  have  done  justice  to 
the  Navy  team  itself. 

'By  sheer  merit  they  also  had  won  up  to  date.  And 
they  faced  the  far  heavier  eighteenth-company  team  with 
a  feeling  of  collected  confidence. 


AT  HIS  OWN  GAME  241 

The  eighteenth-company  team  won.  But  it  barely  won. 
And  when  the  game  was  over  there  two  kinds  of  public 
opinion : 

The  brigade  said:  "That  team  Tom  Poor  made  out 
of  his  company  just  shows  what  an  expert  football  man 
can  do  with  poor  material." 

Tom  said — and  a  good  many  in  the  fourth  company 
agreed:  "If  we  could  make  a  football  team  out  of  this 
motley  crowd,  there's  no  reason  why  we  can't  make  a 
basketball  team  and  a  lacrosse  team,  and  maybe  even 
some  of  the  other  kinds  of  teams !" 

Which  was  pretty  nearly  what  happened.  And,  because 
the  company  did  what  Tom  asked  and  kept  pretty  tight- 
mouthed  about  the  scheme,  the  Brigade  didn't  notice  what 
was  going  on.  The  fourth  company  won  first  in  only 
one  sport — in  swimming.  That  was  pure  luck  too.  But 
in  every  other  line  it  pulled  down  a  quiet  second  or  third. 

And  the  points  kept  mounting  slowly  but  surely. 

Late  in  the  spring  Bob  happened  to  be  in  conference 
with  Lieutenant  Ruggles  over  some  baseball  work.  He 
had  been  elected  baseball  manager  by  his  class.  Lieuten- 
ant Ruggles  was  the  Navy  Athletic  Association  repre- 
sentative for  baseball. 

"By  the  way,  Gary,"  said  the  officer,  "have  you  noticed 
how  the  company  competitions  are  going  ?  Most  surpris- 
ing thing  you  ever  saw." 

"In  a  general  way,"  replied  Bob.  "I  know  we've  got 
the  prize  pretty  well  cinched  in  the  tenth  company  with 
all  the  varsity  men  we've  got.  Then  there's  the 
eighteenth  who  have  pulled  down  the  football  and  track 
firsts,  as  well  as  boxing  and  wrestling  championships." 

Ruggles  smiled.  "What  do  you  think  about  the  fourth 
company,  Poor's  aggregation?" 


242  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"Not  a  whole  lot,"  laughed  Bob.  "He's  gotten  trimmed 
in  everything  he's  gone  after.  First  there  was  football, 
the  eighteenth  won  that." 

"But  the  fourth  got  second." 

"Yes,"  assented  Bob  without  noticing  the  other's 
look.  "And  then  he  lost  the  basketball  series  by  a  bad 
beating  towards  the  end." 

"But  he  won  third  place." 

Bob  looked  up  suddenly.  "Why,  come  to  think  about 
it,  he's  pulled  down  second  or  third  in  just  about  every 
series  that's  come  off  to  date !" 

"Correct!"  said  the  officer.  "And  what  is  more,  he 
is  now  twelve  points  ahead  of  the  nearest  company." 

"It  can't  be  so!"  exclaimed  'Bob.  He  seized  the  list 
of  records.  "Well,  by  George!  If  that  wouldn't  gol- 
swizzle  you !" 

"Van  Brunt's  second  still,"  the  other  reminded  him. 
"If  he  wins  the  company  drill  and  the  baseball  series  he 
will  beat  Poor.  Otherwise  Poor  will  win.  And  just  be- 
tween you  and  me,  the  man  who  has  got  the  brains  to 
develop  a  high  average  in  a  crowd,  whether  it's  a  ship 
or  a  college  or  a  company  of  midshipmen,  is  the  one  who 
deserves  to  win." 

Bob  hurried  back  to  Reggie  and  told  him  the  ex- 
traordinary news. 

"Just  waked  up  to  the  facts  myself,"  was  the  unex- 
pectedly calm  reply.  Bob  himself  was  not  surprised  to 
hear  his  roommate  say  he'd  discovered  the  truth  without 
help.  That  was  Reggie's  way:  he  was  always  using  the 
"inside  of  his  bean"  as  Bob  called  it. 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 

Reggie  grinned  confidently.  "I've  got  him  yet.  Don't 
know  but  what  it's  more  fun  to  let  him  come  so  close  to 


AT  HIS  OWN  GAME  243 

winning  after  all.  I  have  a  hunch  that  this  company 
competition  is  his  idea  of  beating  me  at  my  own  game 
as  he  calls  it.  It  is  too,"  he  went  on  a  little  vainly,  "in 
that  it  is  a  matter  of  brains  to  carry  off  as  complicated 
a  campaign  as  this." 

"Swabo  on  the  highbrow  stuff !"  commented  Bob,  "and 
let's  have  some  proof  that  you've  got  a  chance." 

"The  baseball  is  cinched,"  was  the  prompt  reply.  "I've 
got  the  regular  varsity  coach  to  handle  our  company  team 
by  tipping  him  off  to  a  prep  school  job  for  his  brother." 

"That  still  leaves  the  company  drill  to  be  won." 

"Right.  And  it's  going  to  be  won  by  yours  truly. 
But,  though  it  grieves  me  to  say  it,  my  handsome  friend, 
I  must  conceal  from  you  the  great  device  by  which  I  in- 
tend to  rub  Tom  Poor's  nose  in  the  dirt  at  the  company 
drill." 

Bob  was  delighted.  "Gosh !"  he  cried ;  "I  don't  care 
what  it  is  you're  going  to  do  it  with  so  long  as  you  do  it. 
Fact,  it's  more  exciting  just  to  have  it  a  secret." 

The  word  got  about  just  as  Reggie  expected.  His 
company,  the  tenth,  was  going  to  have  the  big  coach 
train  it  in  baseball.  This  quickly  made  most  of  the  other 
companies  drop  out.  The  fourth,  Tom's,  hung  on  till 
the  end  and  managed  to  scramble  out  with  a  third,  the 
tenth  winning  first  in  the  series  by  a  large  margin. 

Final  victory  now .  lay  between  the  fourth  and  the 
tenth,  with  only  one  competition  to  decide  which  was  to  be 
the  best  company  in  the  brigade,  which  was  to  be  the  color 
company  for  the  ensuing  year,  which  was  to  be  marched 
up  in  front  in  June  Week  and  receive  the  plaudits  of  the 
multitude,  which — the  privileges  seemed  innumerable. 

The  whole  brigade  took  sides. 

"Poor  can  handle  his  men  best,"  claimed  some. 


244  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"But  Van  Brunt  is  the  quickest  thinker — can  get  an 
order  off  in  half  the  time  Poor  can.  And  he  understands 
the  theory  of  the  game  better." 

Others  thought  Tom's  popularity  with  the  officers 
would  tend  to  make  them  favor  him.  "Got  a  stand-in 
for  his  work  in  the  Army-Navy  game,"  most  people  ad- 
mitted. 

"But  Van  Brunt  is  the  best  appearing  cadet  officer  on 
parade — the  Supe  once  said  so  in  public." 

So  it  went.  No  one  was  willing  to  bet  very  much  of 
their  monthly  money  on  either  company.  And  yet,  de- 
spite the  sensational  crew  races,  baseball  games,  hops, 
and  all  the  other  thrilling  features  of  the  Annapolis  spring 
the  contest  grew  in  public  interest  as  the  time  went  on. 

It  was  something  nearer  home  than  outside  games; 
something  that  all  hands  had  participated  in  through  the 
year.  "Like  a  couple  of  your  own  brothers  having  a 
scrap!"  one  man  described  it. 

"Or  a  civil  war,"  added  a  more  serious-minded  lad. 
"Going  out  and  mow  down  your  own  kind,  and  all  that." 

When  the  great  day  came  for  the  competitive  drill 
each  company  was  like  an  armed  camp.  Its  own  territory 
was  guarded  from  outsiders  or  anyone  who  might  be  a 
spy  for  the  other  side. 

Three  especially  selected  officers  were  detailed  by  the 
Superintendent  as  judges.  Said  one: 

"It's  going  to  be  the  same  as  every  other  year.  The 
company  that  looks  the  best  and  keeps  the  best  time  is 
going  to  win." 

He  was  half  right  at  any  rate.  When  the  brigade 
came  on  the  big  parade  ground  and  the  first  cheering 
had  ceased,  the  competing  companies  had  dwindled  to 
four  within  fifteen  minutes.  These  four  were  Tom's 


AT  HIS  OWN  GAME  245 

and  Reggie's  and  two  others.  The  two  others  were  in 
chiefly  because  their  company  commanders  had  not  yet 
made  any  mistake  in  handling  them  and  their  appearance 
was  good. 

Then  they  fell  out  on  some  flaw  or  other  leaving  only 
the  two  rivals. 

"Splendid!"  declared  the  Commandant  to  his  aide. 
"Both  those  lads  have  certainly  got  their  men  in  apple- 
pie  order !" 

He  was  right.  Reggie  and  Tom  well  realized  that  their 
year's  work  in  the  company  fight  would  depend  on  today's 
contest.  Each  midshipman  in  each  company  wore  a  new 
cap,  freshly  pressed  uniform,  shoes  polished  till  they 
shone.  Each  midshipman  in  the  two  companies  looked 
as  if  he  had  just  stepped  out  of  the  show  window  of  a 
uniform  tailor. 

The  band  played.  Two  airplanes  swooped  overhead. 
The  grandstands  were  crowded — cheering — waving.  It 
was  one  of  those  days — those  events — that  live  forever 
in  the  memory  of  a  Navy  man,  or  the  girl  he's  brought 
to  thrill  at  the  gorgeous  life  he  leads — or  seems  to. 

Even  the  experts  could  detect  no  difference  in  the 
two  companies.  Like  automatons  the  blue  lines  ad- 
vanced and  retreated,  swung  into  fours  and  sections,  and 
did  all  the  other  amazing  evolutions  possible  to  an  in- 
fantry troop. 

"It's  a  tie!"  muttered  one  of  the  judges. 

"Right!"  agreed  the  second. 

The  third  was  silent.  "No — look!"  he  exclaimed. 

Tom's  company  was  just  ahead  of  Reggie's  near  the 
end  of  the  field.  The  band  was  at  the  other.  A 
stirring  march  was  being  played.  It  was  the  best  tune 
known  for  keeping  time  to. 


246  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"Can't  you  see?"  cried  the  judge.  "The  fourth  com- 
pany is  losing  step !" 

He  was  right.  As  Tom  approached  the  quarters  he 
began  to  get  an  echo  from  the  granite  cliff  formed  by  the 
terrace  wall.  Two  music  times  were  then  apparent:  one 
from  the  wall  and  one  from  the  band.  His  men  began 
to  get  out  of  step — half  one  time,  half  the  other. 

"Van  Brunt  wins!"  exclaimed  the  first  judge.  "He's 
still  in  step !" 

"The  tenth  wins !"  someone  took  up  the  cry. 

Signal  was  hoisted  to  this  effect.  Instantly  the  crowd 
broke  into  a  roar  of  applause.  Even  the  band  was 
drowned  out. 

The  winning  company  swung  gaily  down  past  the 
grandstand.  "By  George!'  ejaculated  the  third  judge, 
"They're  still  in  step.  And  they  can't  possibly  hear  the 
music  in  all  this  uproar." 

Suddenly  the  speaker  sprang  from  his  seat  and  rushed 
down  the  aisle.  He  leaped  the  fence  and,  to  the  amaze- 
ment of  the  brigade,  pushed  himself  squarely  into  the 
marching  column.  For  a  moment  the  company  wavered. 
Then  it  lost  step  to  a  ragged  humpety-hump  that  brought 
laughter  in  place  of  the  cheers  of  the  moment  before. 

The  intruding  officer  tucked  something  like  a  small  tin 
can  under  his  arm  and  rushed  back  to  the  judges'  stand. 

"Here's  the  secret !"  he  panted.  And  held  out  a  sort  of 
small  drum,  a  tom-tom  that  could  be  carried  unseen  in 
ranks. 

"Well,  I'll  be  hanged !  It's  a  Filipino  thumper  or  I'm 
a  liar !"  exclaimed  the  second  judge. 

Whereupon  the  third  judge  came  to  life  and  cried: 
"So  he  kept  his  own  time — drummed  it  right  in  ranks ! 
That's  against  the  rules  of  the  competition,  isn't  it?" 


AT  HIS  OWN  GAME  247 

"No,  but  it's  to  be  next  year.  And  it's  enough  to 
make  him  lose  this  by  such  skulduggery.  What  do  you 
say?" 

The  other  two  nodded,  and  a  moment  later  a  fresh 
burst  of  cheering  brought  Tom  out  of  the  trance  of  dis- 
couragement into  which  he  had  fallen. 

"It's  us!"  yelled  Ole.  "They've  reserved  their  deci- 
sion! We  win!" 

The  crestfallen  Reggie  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
turned  away. 

"Who  wants  to  be  a  soldier  anyway!"  he  was  re- 
ported to  have  remarked. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE   BATTLE 

LIEUTENANT  RUGGLES  sprang  the  idea  in  the  officers' 
mess.  His  first  thought  was  how  good  a  joke  it  would 
make.  But  a  little  discussion  brought  out  the  possibili- 
ties of  a  great  and  even  thrilling  event. 

"Let's  make  them  fight  it  out!"  he  announced. 

"But  they  did.  Poor's  fourth  company  won  the 
colors,"  was  replied. 

"Sure.  'But  they  tell  me  Van  Brunt  sneered  at  Poor 
for  being  a  tin  soldier.  Said  he  could  only  drill.  Would- 
n't be  able  to  make  use  of  his  ability  when  it  came  to  the 
real  thing." 

"And  now  what?" 

"Why  the  Admiral  is  having  Hill  and  me  arrange  this 
sham  battle  for  the  last  day  in  June  week.  Wants  a  lot 
of  action — real  guns  firing  and  men  dying,  and  all  that. 
Finest  chance  in  the  world  to  let  Tom  Poor  show  his 
adversary  that  he  can  bring  home  the  bacon  on  the  firing 
line  as  well  as  at  drill." 

"You're  a  genius,  Ruggles !" 

So  it  came  about  that  when  the  Five  Striper  called 
in  all  his  company  commanders  and  explained  that  the 
brigade  was  to  be  divided  into  two  armies,  he  startled 
Tom  and  Reggie  by  saying: 

"The  fourth  and  tenth  companies  are  to  have  the  most 
spectacular  job.  They  were  picked  because  they  stood 

248 


THE  BATTLE  249 

highest  in  company  competition  for  the  year.  They  are 
to  battle  for  the  capture  of  Hill  Number  Five,  other- 
wise known  to  Anne  Arundel  County  as  Spinelli  Farm." 

"A  little  more  detail,"  demanded  Reggie  with  alacrity. 
Possibly  this  was  going  to  be  his  chance  to  get  even.  Tom 
had  beaten  him  at  his  game.  It  was  now  his  turn  to  beat 
Tom  at  the  game  of  force. 

Reggie  never  knew  till  years  later  that  Ruggles  had 
planned  the  show  entirely  for  Tom's  benefit. 

"It's  like  this—"  the  Five  Striper  held  out  a  map. 
"The  main  armies  are  to  fight  on  the  ridge  back  of  the 
old  marine  barracks.  Whoever  gets  to  the  top  of  the 
ridge  first  will  of  course  win.  The  rules  forbid  either 
force  from  starting  up  till  the  other  force  is  out  of  cover. 
This  information  can  be  got  only  by  holding  a  spot  that 
commands  both  sides  of  the  Ridge." 

The  speaker  pointed  to  a  black  circle  on  his  map 
marked  "Hill  No.  5." 

"The  fourth  and  tenth  companies  under  Cadet  Lieu- 
tenants Poor  and  Van  Brunt  will  command  the  troops 
which  will  fight  for  this  vantage  point." 

Next  day  Ole  and  Tom  took  a  look  over  the  ground. 
Though  Tom  was  of  course  not  in  the  joke,  he  had 
sense  enough  to  realize  that  he  was  to  have  his  chance 
to  get  back  at  Reggie  for  the  taunt  which  had  gone 
through  quarters :  "Tom  Poor,  the  Tin  Soldier !"  It 
was  a  bitter  reward  for  having  won  the  competitive  drill. 

"Sure  is  a  simple  outlay!"  exclaimed  Ole. 

"Got  to  be,"  replied  Tom.  "These  visitors  down  to 
see  the  exhibition  are  not  militarists.  They  want  to  hear 
the  noise  and  see  the  smoke.  That's  about  all." 

"I  get  you.  And  the  way  I  understand  the  plan  is  that 
the  long  ridge  is  the  main  battle  field.  Us  two  companies 


250  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

are  simply  going  to  have  a  little  private  scrap  of  our 
own  to  see  who  gets  the  honor  of  sending  the  signal  for 
his  own  forces  to  go  over  the  top." 

"Correct.  And  we're  going  to  be  the  ones  to  signal 
because  this  is  the  very  sort  of  business  Van  Brunt  can 
never  get  through  his  head.  He  doesn't  think  physical 
strength  counts  for  much  of  anything." 

"But  what  chance  have  you  to  use  hand  to  hand  fight- 
ing?" Ole  himself  had  always  been  a  little  doubtful  of 
Tom's  point  of  view.  "If  you  start  a  free-for-all  brawl 
up  here,  no  one  will  be  able  to  signal  and  the  sham  battle 
won't  come  off.  Furthermore,  one  of  your  company 
commanders  is  likely  to  hit  the  pap  for  gumming  the 
game." 

Then  briefly  Tom  sketched  his  plan  to  capture  Reg- 
gie's scouts.  "Of  course  he'll  send  out  his  best  men, 
that  varsity  team  gang  one  at  a  time  to  reconnoitre.  I'll 
have  a  strong  arm  gang  to  capture  them  one  at  a  time  and 
tie  them  up.  When  the  final  rush  comes  his  pillars  of 
strength  will  have  all  been  tied  up  and  hove  in  the  bushes." 

Within  an  hour  Reggie  and  Bob  were  also  wandering 
about  on  the  same  mission. 

"Got  to  snoop  about  a  bit,"  explained  Reggie.  "Time 
has  come  when  I've  got  to  beat  Tom  Poor  or  leave  An- 
napolis feeling  he  has  put  it  over  me  on  every  public  oc- 
casion." 

Bob  yawned.  "What's  the  sense  of  that  fighting  stuff 
anyway.  You  lammed  the  nail  on  its  bean  when  you  said 
you  didn't  intend  to  be  a  soldier.  Here  we've  been 
studying  to  be  naval  officers  for  four  years  and  still  we 
have  to  trot  around  on  land  and  pull  a  lot  of  Army 
foolishness  till  we're  so  full  of  dust  and  chiggers  there's 
no  fun  living!" 


THE  BATTLE  251 

Reggie  turned  with  a  serious  look.  "Man,  have  you 
never  heard  of  the  battles  the  Navy's  fought  on  land? 
Never  has  it  come  to  your  donkey  ears  how  our  gallant 
gobs  took  Vera  Cruz?  Why,  it  would  have  been  six 
months  before  the  Army  could  have  packed  their  trunk 
and  got  there.  That's  half  the  fun  of  being  in  the 
Navy:  variety  every  minute  of  the  time!  First  a  fleet 
action  at  sea,  then  an  expeditionary  party  ashore!" 

But  for  all  his  great  ideas,  Reggie  took  little  interest 
in  the  details  of  the  battle.  His  one  engrossing  desire 
was  to  "hang  it  on  to  Tom  for  having  skinned  him  earlier 
in  the  week." 

At  ten  A.  M.  of  the  day  set,  the  brigade  was  divided 
and  established  half  on  each  side  of  the  main  ridge  on 
which  the  action  was  to  be  fought.  Infantrymen  were 
armed  with  Springfield  rifles.  The  artillery  had  three- 
inch  field  pieces.  Sufficient  blank  ammunition  had  been 
served  out  to  destroy  a  goodsized  army  had  there  been 
lead  in  the  shells  instead  of  pasteboard  wads. 

The  immense  crowds  of  spectators  were  kept  back  of 
the  danger  line  by  an  extra  force  of  watchmen.  Hun- 
dreds swarmed  over  the  hospital  grounds  and  even  the 
bridge  over  the  College  Creek.  The  Marine  band  occu- 
pied the  bandstand  and  kept  up  a  gay  martial  serenade 
through  the  whole  morning. 

The  fourth  Company  approached  Hill  No.  5  direct 
*rom  the  armory.  The  Tenth  under  Reggie  had  their 
instructions  to  make  their  way  through  the  town  of  Annap- 
olis. 

On  West  Street  Reggie  encountered  a  parade.  Unlike 
his  own,  its  members  were  not  in  military  uniform.  Yet 
they  wore  their  best  clothes  and  colored  ribbons,  and 
some  had  hats  with  plumes  in  them. 


252  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET. 

"What's  that?"  Bob  inquired  of  a  bystander  as  he 
passed. 

The  civilian  shook  his  head.  "Don't  know  exactly, 
except  it's  some  kind  of  wedding  over  at  Spinelli  Farm. 
Armenians  I  believe." 

Bob  passed  the  news  along  to  Reggie  as  a  matter  of 
interest. 

"Armenian  wedding?"  echoed  Reggie.  "Seems  to  me 
I  saw  one  once.  I  wonder — "  He  slapped  Bob  on  the 
back,  a  most  unmilitary  procedure.  "By  heck !  I've  got 
an  idea!" 

"You  usually  do  sooner  or  later,"  admitted  Bob. 
"Though  I  can't  say  it  always  works.  Not  another 
Filipino  Tom-Tom  I  hope." 

"No  a  bride  and  groom!" 

'Bob  spent  the  rest  of  the  march  trying  to  worm  Reg- 
gie's brainthrob  from  him,  but  without  success. 

Having  reached  the  little  valley  on  the  far  side  of 
Hill  No.  5.  Reggie  gathered  his  men  about  him  and 
pointed  to  the  cluster  of  farm  buildings  above  him. 

"Fellows,"  he  said,  "there's  an  Armenian,  or  some 
kind  of  'enian,  wedding  going  on  up  there.  We're  sup- 
posed to  capture  the  hill  itself  and  the  Supe  has  got  per- 
mission for  us  to  use  the  pasture  at  one  side  of  the  house 
for  our  war  game." 

"Don't  forget  the  time,"  warned  Bob. 

Reggie  glanced  at  his  watch.  "Twenty  minutes  yet — 
keep  your  shirt  on,"  he  retorted.  "Now  my  idea  is 
to  send  some  of  you  big  bugs  up  as  scouts.  Soon  as 
the  wedding  starts  butt  in  on  it.  Throw  mud,  or  do 
anything  not  too  rough  to  attract  their  attention.  When 
they  get  good  and  sore  at  you,  beat  it.  Naturally 
Poor's  fourth  company  will  come  along  about  the  same 


THE  BATTLE  253 

time.  The  Armenians  will  see  their  uniform  and  think 
they're  us.  Then  there  will  be  a  big  row.  We  won't 
even  have  to  show  up.  While  the  Armenians  are  demol- 
ishing Poor  and  his  gang,  one  of  our  signalmen  can 
sneak  up  and  send  the  signal." 

This  clear  happy  plan  met  the  company's  approval 
at  once.  Considerable  applause  broke  out. 

"Time  now  for  a  scout!"  announced  Reggie.  "You 
first,  Calkins." 

The  husky  varsity  football  tackle  unslung  his  rifle 
and  started  up  the  hill.  With  the  caution  of  a  trained 
Indian  he  took  advantage  of  every  bit  of  cover.  Near 
the  top  he  paused.  No  one  was  in  sight.  From  the 
barn  came  sounds  of  music  and  revelry.  The  wedding 
had  started.  Now  was  the  time  for  him  to  excite  the 
foreigners  against  any  midshipmen  that  might  appear, 
particularly  those  of  the  unsuspecting  fourth  company. 

Through  an  open  door  of  the  barn  he  could  see  the 
dancers  and  merry  makers.  A  mud  ball  or  two  through 
this  space  and  the  sight  of  his  uniform  would  be  suffi- 
cient. He  leaned  over  for  a  missile. 

At  the  same  instant  a  step  sounded  behind  him.  A 
heavy  body  threw  itself  upon  his  back.  He  was  borne 
to  the  ground.  There  was  a  short  sharp  struggle.  De- 
spite his  great  strength,  Calkins  had  no  chance  from  the 
first.  Five  men  were  against  him.  And  the  fifth  was 
Tom  Poor  himself. 

"Tie  him,"  ordered  Tom.  "And  gag  him,"  he  added 
when  the  captive  opened  his  mouth  to  yell. 

When  Calkins  failed  to  return  with  any  news  Reggie 
sent  his  next  best  man,  Bullock,  half-back  on  the  team. 
Surely  he  could  handle  any  sort  of  foul  play  that  his 
predecessor  might  have  met. 


^54  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

Three  minutes  later  he  also  lay  trussed  and  gagged, 
'Tom's  strong-arm  gang  were  certainly  getting  in  their 
^work! 

In  quick  succession  Reggie  expended  the  remaining 
men  whom  he  felt  could  cope  with  any  defense  Tom's 
crowd  might  be  putting  up.  The  last  two  he  sent  to- 
gether and  armed  with  clubs  cut  from  the  young  oaks 
growing  about. 

Still  none  returned.  And  there  were  no  joyous  signs 
of  rage  from  the  wedding  party  that  were  supposed 
to  be  incited  to  murderous  actions  against  any  and  all 
midshipmen. 

Time  was  flying.  If  no  signal  were  sent  in  ten  minutes 
both  sides  of  the  main  forces  in  the  battle  could  start 
off  together.  Those  depending  upon  Reggie  would  have 
lost  all  the  advantage  he  had  promised  them. 

"Guess  I'll  take  a  look  myself,"  said  Reggie.  "There's 
something  wrong  going  on  up  there.  I  don't  know  but 
what  the  fourth  company  may  have  taken  possession  al- 
ready. Though  I'm  hanged  if  I  can  see  where  they'd 
get  cover  enough  to  hide  themselves !" 

"Better  not,"  cautioned  Bob.  "If  you  get  nabbed, 
we'll  never  hear-  the  end  of  it." 

But  Reggie  had  better  sense  than  to  risk  himself  sin- 
gle-handed. "Here,  Gerard  and  Hope,"  he  called.  "I 
want  you  two  to  go  up  there  as  if  you  were  scouting. 
I'm  going  to  take  a  side  course  and  watch  what  hap- 
pens." 

The  same  thing  happened  as  before.  Only  this  time 
from  a  nearby  tree  Reggie  watched  the  performance,  saw 
his  scouts  overpowered  and  disposed  of  with  the  other 
helpless  ones. 

He  looked  at  his  watch.    "Four  minutes,"  he  mut- 


THE  BATTLE  255 

tered.  "Guess  Poor'll  take  his  company  up  in  force  and 
capture  the  place." 

At  this  instant  a  door  near  the  end  of  the  barn  opened. 
One  of  the  foreigners  came  out  and  went  towards  the 
house.  He  carried  a  milk  pail.  Through  the  open  en- 
trance Reggie  saw  a  line  of  stalls. 

Then  he  realized  that  this  end  of  the  barn  was  separate 
from  the  remainder  of  the  building  in  which  the  wedding 
was  being  held. 

"That's  the  stunt!"  he  exclaimed  aloud,  leaped  to  the 
ground  and  dashed  back  to  his  company. 

"Fall  in !"  he  shouted.  "We've  got  just  three  minutes 
to  win  this  battle,  fellows!  Follow  me  and  do  exactly 
what  I  say  or  we  won't  have  the  ghost  of  a  show!" 

He  turned  and  started  off  around  the  hill  at  a  trot. 
"Come  on,  and  make  as  little  noise  as  possible!"  he 
shouted.  Also  he  told  off  three  more  scouts  to  go  up 
the  same  place  as  the  first  ones.  "Bait !"  he  explained  to 
Bob  as  he  ran. 

Just  below  the  house  he  dodged  off  into  the  woods  and 
up  the  hill.  At  the  summit  the  company  came  out  into 
the  open  yard. 

"Speed  now!"  yelled  Reggie. 

The  midshipmen  dashed  pell  mell  and  without  thought 
of  military  formation  across  the  treeless  space. 

By  the  time  the  breathless  company  had  reached  the 
back  end  of  the  barn  a  shout  was  heard  from  the  bottom 
of  the  hill  at  the  other  side. 

The  fourth  company  had  seen  them.  Tom  was  absent ; 
he  was  busy  with  his  strong-arm  gang.  A  minute  and  a 
half  more  he  personally  could  leave  the  tying-up  gang 
and  send  the  wig  wag  to  his  "army." 

Ole,   second  in  command,  took  charge  at  once.     He 


256  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

realized  that  Reggie  had  thrown  caution  to  the  winds  and 
was  willing  to  risk  an  open  battle  in  the  farmyard. 

"Don't  like  it  though,"  thought  Ole.  "We  had  partic- 
ular instruction  not  to  go  on  the  farm  except  in  the 
pasture." 

He  raised  his  sword.  "Forward,  double  time!"  he 
shouted.  And  the  fourth  company  leaped  into  stride 
with  him.  They  all  saw  now  the  enemy  tenth  waiting 
near  the  barn. 

Reggie  gauged  the  oncoming  mob.  "Quick,  Bob!"  he 
commanded.  "Slip  the  crowd  round  the  corner  and  into 
that  open  door.  I'm  going  to  leave  a  squad  of  plebes 
here  to  be  captured." 

So  as  the  charging  company  swept  up  the  slope  Reg- 
gie's men  swiftly  made  their  way  around  the  corner  of 
the  barn  and  into  the  space  of  the  cow  stalls.  Reggie 
entered  last,  pulled  the  door  to,  and  bolted  it  after  him. 

"Here,  Booth,"  he  called  to  the  company  signalman, 
"beat  it  up  through  the  loft  and  signal  our  forces  to 
attack." 

The  midshipman  scrambled  up  the  loft  ladder,  floun- 
dered through  the  dusty  hay,  and  in  another  moment  was 
flashing  the  call  to  victory  to  the  waiting  army  half  a 
mile  away.  A  distant  cheering  swept  faintly  back 
and  brought  a  cool  thrill  up  and  down  his  spinal 
column. 

.  'By  this  time  Ole  and  his  winded  troopers  had  reached 
the  building.  Roughly  they  surrounded  the  waiting  dis- 
mal plebes  and  made  captives  of  them. 

"Where're  the  rest  of  the  company?"  roared  Ole. 
"Tell  us  at  once  or  we'll  string  you  up  to  the  nearest 
trees!" 


THE  BATTLE  257 

"In  the  barn,  sir,"  replied  the  plebe  promptly  as  he 
had  been  told. 

"Get  'em,  fellows — send  the  signal — here  you,  go  tell 
Mister  Poor  to  come  back  at  once !"  The  orders  tumbled 
hurriedly  from  his  lips. 

Almost  before  he  had  ceased  speaking,  the  company 
had  dashed  around  the  corner  of  the  barn.  Not  even 
noticing  the  closed  door  behind  which  Reggie  and  his 
silent  men  stood  grinning,  the  armed  rioters  galloped 
toward  the  main  entrance.  In  a  single  rush  they  entered. 

"Listen!"  commanded  Reggie  sharply. 

Came  through  the  board  partition  a  sudden  ending  to 
the  music.  Women  screamed.  Heavy  thumps,  loud 
cries,  angry  imprecations,  sounds  of  a  more  real  battle 
than  even  that  planned  on  the  Academy  grounds  re- 
sounded across  the  rafters  of  the  great  building. 

Reggie  held  up  his  hand.  "Men,"  said  he,  "there  is 
a  moment  in  every  great  campaign  when  to  retreat  is 
the  only  safe  and  sane  procedure.  That  moment  has  ar- 
rived for  the  noble  Tenth!" 

"And,  for  the  love  of  Mike,  don't  make  any  noise!" 
added  Bob. 

Reggie  pointed  over  his  shoulder.  "Like  to  know 
how  we'd  ever  disturb  that  din  in  there,"  he  said. 

With  broad  smiles  of  satisfaction  the  victorious  com- 
pany slipped  quietly  out  and  down  the  hill  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Naval  Academy.  Not  a  lad  but  would  have 
hugged  himself  for  thought  of  the  mess  to  which  he  had 
abandoned  his  own  schoolmates. 

Dress  parade  had  just  begun  when  the  Tenth  marched 
triumphantly  on  to  the  field.  In  a  few  minutes  the  news 
had  got  about  that  this  was  the  company  responsible  for 


258  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

the  master  stroke  which  won  the  battle  for — for  no  one 
knew  nor  cared  which  army. 

A  gay  rattle  of  handclapping  ran  down  the  line  of 
visitors. 

After  the  parade  the  company  commanders  were  called 
over  to  be  congratulated  by  the  Admiral  for  their  work. 
The  Fourth  was  still  absent. 

Reggie  stood  nearest  the  Admiral.  Just  then  the  Aide 
stepped  up  and  saluted. 

"Beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  a  report  has  just  come 
from  police  headquarters  in  Annapolis." 

"Good  heavens!  What's  up?"  exclaimed  the  Admiral. 

"Can't  quite  make  out,  sir.  Sounded  like  there  was 
an  Armenian  massacre  or  something  like  that  taking 
place  at  the  Spinelli  Farm!" 

Reggie  bit  his  lip  till  the  blood  came.  If  he  could 
only  go  down  under  the  bleachers  and  have  the  kind 
of  terrific  laugh  that  was  threatening  to  burst  his  ribs. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE    TURRET 

Two  days  before  graduation  the  second  squadron  of 
the  North  Atlantic  Fleet  arrived  in  the  Roads  off  Annap- 
olis. Ships  and  men  were  scheduled  to  take  part  in 
the  June  Week  exercises. 

Ole  received  a  note  from  his  old  friend  Billings,  three 
classes  ahead  of  him.  Billings  was  now  an  ensign  on 
the  Pennsylvania. 

"Dear  Mr.  President,"  it  ran  "I've  got  a  turret  aboard 
this  battleboat  and  I  want  to  recruit  some  of  your  bunch 
in  the  Gunnery  Department.  We  won  the  trophy  last 
year  and  we  hope  to  this — provided  we  can  rake  in  a 
few  of  the  right  kind  of  men.  I'll  send  a  boat  in  for 
you  and  five  more.  Suggest  Poor,  Van  Brunt,  and  Cal- 
kins. You  can  pick  the  others.  Yours — for  the  Fleet — 
Bill." 

Tom  who  had  been  listening,  burst  out  laughing. 

"The  nerve  of  him — wanting  to  mix  Van  Brunt  in 
with  us!"  Tom  was  still  smarting  under  the  jeers  his 
men  had  received  on  their  return  from  the  so-called 
"Armenian  massacre." 

"Oh,  piffle!"  said  Ole.  "You  had  more  fun  out  of 
that  'massacre'  than  Reggie  did.  You  had  all  the  excite- 
ment of  the  actual  scrap!" 

Tom  shook  his  head.  No  real  trouble  had  come  from 
the  escapade.  But  it  was  a  doubtful  glory  to  have  been 
outwitted  by  an  acknowledged  inferior. 

259 


260  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

At  nine  the  midshipmen  stepped  from  the  sea-wall  into 
the  battleship's  fast  picket  boat.  Out  to  the  gray  line 
of  mammoth  vessels  of  war  they  travelled  silently.  In 
the  minds  of  each  was  thought  of  how  soon  he  should 
become  an  integral  part  of  one  of  these  great  fighting 
machines. 

"Hello,  you  kids!"  Billings  greeted  them. 

"Good  morning,  sir."  The  dignity  of  the  first-class- 
man was  not  lost  on  the  young  officer  who  had  already 
passed  into  the  new  mill,  having  entered  at  the  bottom 
for  a  long  climb  to  rank  and  command. 

"Just  wished  you  to  have  a  look  around  the  old  craft," 
continued  Billings. 

"Not  very  old,"  muttered  Tom,  running  a  practised 
eye  along  the  white  decks  and  glistening  guns. 

"Old  enough  to  be  the  best,"  was  the  quick  retort. 
"Which  is  why  I  wanted  you  here.  You  know  you  can 
get  orders  to  the  Pennsylvania  if  the  Skipper  asks  for 
you.  The  gunnery  officer  and  I  thought  you'd  be  the 
very  crowd  we  want." 

As  they  walked  about  for  a  glimpse  through  the  quar- 
ters, engine-rooms,  and  bridge,  Billings  and  Ole  fell  back 
a  bit. 

"How's  the  old  Navy  School?"  asked  the  former. 

"Same  as  ever,"  was  the  absent  reply.  Then,  realiz- 
ing that  now  was  the  chance  to  unburden  himself,  Ole 
spoke  his  mind:  "Bill,  don't  you  know  it  won't  do  to 
have  Van  Brunt  and  Poor  on  the  same  ship?" 

"Oh,  chuck  that  scuttlebutt  stuff  and  talk  sense!" 

"True,  Bill.  They're  almost  as  bad  as  the  day  they 
entered." 

"I  don't  believe  it.  Tell  me  now — and  be  fair — haven't 
they  both  been  through  the  mill  for  four  years  mentally 


THE  TURRET  261 

and  physically?  Haven't  they  had  one  scrap  after  an- 
other— fists — wits- — studies?  And  now  haven't  they  got 
a  certain  respect  for  the  wits  of  each  other?" 

Ole  thought  for  a  moment.  "Yes,  I  guess  they  have. 
But  that  doesn't  prevent  each  from  thinking  the  other 
is  a  pretty  weak  fish,  and  behaving  accordingly  on  every 
occasion." 

Billings  stepped  up  to  Ole  and  banged  him  heavily  on 
his  back.  "Just  the  opportunity!"  he  cried. 

A  bugle  sounded.  Men  came  running  from  hatches, 
up  ladders,  from  galleys  and  gangways  and  decks.  The 
morning  turret  drill  was  on. 

Billings  directed  the  five  visiting  first-classmen  to 
follow  him  into  the  forward  turret.  They  squeezed 
up  through  the  little  hole  in  the  overhanging  armor 
plate  and  found  themselves  in  a  closed  box-like  space. 
This  was  the  protected  room  in  which  the  crews  worked. 
Gaping  breeches  of  three  fourteen-inch  guns  stood  ready 
for  their  meal  of  nearly  a  ton  of  powder  and  projectile. 
Through  each  breech  down  the  sixty-foot  barrel  could 
be  seen  the  distant  target  at  which  the  mammoth  guns 
were  trained. 

Lieutenant  Strake,  the  turret  officer  and  boss  of  Bill- 
ings, bustled  in  a  few  minutes  later.  He  glanced  over 
the  waiting  men,  stripped  to  their  waists,  and  asked 
sharply  : 

"Ready,  Billings?" 

"Ready,  sir." 

"Dummy  charge,  you  know;  bean  bags  in  place  of 
powder,  of  course.  How  is  that  elevating  motor  this 
morning?" 

"Pretty  good,  sir.  Not  sparking  so  much."  Billings 
didn't  add  that  he  and  the  turret  captain  had  been  up 


262  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

half  the  night  working  over  the  wiring  and  armatures, 
and  computing  the  losses  that  weakened  the  powerful 
mechanism  just  enough  to  disable  the  turret.  He  had 
long  since  come  to  realize  that  on  a  battleship  of  the  line 
once  a  difficulty  arises  it  must  be  fought  and  conquered 
with  no  thought  of  food  or  sleep. 

A  bell  rang.     "Stand  by!"  shouted  the  Lieutenant. 

Men  leaped  to  their  stations.  Motors  and  hoists  were 
switched  into  rumbling  buzzing  action.  The  whole  struc- 
ture began  a  slow  sure  movement  upon  the  exact  line  of 
the  target  nearly  four  miles  away. 

A  second  bell  rang.     "Load!"  roared  Strake. 

Instantly  fifty  brawny  sailormen  sprang  into  action. 
The  half -ton  shell  appeared  from  a  yawning  hole  under- 
foot. With  a  crash  it  fell  automatically  upon  a  brass 
table.  A  mechanical  rammer  shot  it  with  tremendous 
speed  into  the  hungry  gun.  Four  ponderous  bags  of 
smokeless  powder  followed  without  a  moment's  delay. 
Smash!  Bang!  The  huge  steel  breech-plug  swung 
shut. 

"Thirteen  seconds !"  announced  Strake  from  his  stop 
watch.  "You  can  do  better  than  that." 

Again  the  gun  team  braced.  And  again  the  gigantic 
charge  issued  from  the  lower  regions  of  the  battleship. 
The  projectile  rumbled  upon  the  table.  The  rammerman 
shot  forward  his  operating  lever. 

But  this  time  the  steel  missile  failed  to  hit  its  mark. 
To  the  amazement  of  the  tensely  watching  midshipmen  it 
trembled  for  an  instant,  wobbled  sidewise,  then  shot 
with  a  terrific  concussion  against  the  solid  wall  of  the 
gun's  body  and  fell  into  the  pit  beneath.  The  rammer- 
man had  pressed  his  lever  the  fifth  of  a  second  too 
soon. 


THE  TURRET  263 

A  man  screamed  in  pain.  He  had  been  struck  a 
glancing  blow  and,  unbalanced,  was  flung  to  what  seemed 
certain  death. 

"Silence!"  roared  Strake. 

To  a  man  the  crew  stood  stock  still. 

"Motors  off!" 

Whirring  gears  and  wheels  came  to  a  dead  stop.  Then, 
from  the  blackness  could  be  heard  the  cries  and  groans 
of  the  two  victims.  One  was  stunned  and  helpless.  The 
other  lay  pinned  by  the  mass  of  metal  that  had  fallen 
upon  both  legs,  crushing  them  to  a  pulp. 

"Overhead  tackle,"  snapped  the  officer.  "Stand  by 
your  chain  hoist  and  lift.  Here,  Tomkins,  call  the  sick- 
bay. Say  send  two  stretchers." 

Except  for  snapped  "aye,  aye,  sirs!"  the  men  jumped 
without  a  word  to  obey. 

The  turret  captain  brought  a  portable  electric  lamp. 
By  its  light  it  could  be  seen  that  the  man  pinned  down 
could  be  freed  only  when  the  projectile  was  lifted.  To  do 
this  a  clamp  must  be  put  around  the  projectile's  body. 
And  to  put  the  clamp  on  required  that  the  i4OO-pound 
mass  be  raised  an  inch. 

Strake  swiftly  saw  the  danger.  "Men,"  he  said  in 
quiet  but  incisive  tones,  "that  clamp's  got  to  go  on.  The 
shell  is  caught  so  that  the  slightest  movement  may  dislodge 
it.  The  man  who  holds  the  clamp  may  be  caught  with 
poor  McGregor.  Will  any  of  you  volunteer  to  try  it 
while  I  run  the  motor  ?" 

At  once  there  was  a  chorus  of  "I  wills!" 

"You  understand  that  no  one  but  myself  and  McGregor 
can  run  this  motor — that  I  am  not  asking  any  of  you  to 
do  what  I  myself  wouldn't  do?" 

The  instant  response  was  a  joy  to  hear. 


264  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

By  this  time  Billings  had  reached  the  upper  level. 
He  had  sprung  down  immediately  to  the  wounded  man 
and  administered  first  aid  with  a  hypodermic  injection 
to  stop  the  pain. 

"I  believe  I  had  better  take  the  job,  sir,"  he  interrupted. 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  have  been  in  this  turret  longer  than  any  of 
these  other  men.  I  know  the  sound  of  that  hoist  motor 
to  the  finest  note.  Not  one  of  this  bunch  can  tell  as  well 
as  I  just  exactly  when  to  slip  that  clamp  on." 

There  were  several  muffled  protests  about  this  not  be- 
ing an  officer's  job.  But  Strake  shut  them  up  with  a 
curt: 

"You   realize   the   danger,    Billings?" 

"I  do,  sir." 

"Very  well  then,  stand  by." 

Billings  lowered  himself  again  beside  the  stricken  man, 
now  quiet  from  the  opiate.  The  heavy  shell  clamp  was 
passed  down.  He  balanced  it  opposite  the  middle  of  the 
the  projectile.  To  do  this  it  was  necessary  for  him  to 
place  his  own  hip  directly  beneath.  If  the  mass  slipped,  as 
it  threatened,  he  too  would  be  caught,  crushed,  maimed. 

"Ready,  sir!" 

Not  a  tremor  or  hesitation  in  the  voice  of  the  young 
officer.  Not  the  slightest  indication  of  the  awful  risk  he 
was  taking.  Not  a  flicker  of  an  eye  to  show  what  he 
knew  as  well  as  the  dread-stiffened  audience,  that  he  had 
even  chances  of  coming  out  a  whole  man. 

"Here  she  goes!"  Strake  might  have  been  tossing  a 
pebble  into  the  sea,  so  calm  his  words  sounded. 

The  lever  went  forward  half  an  inch.     Nothing  stirred. 

"Touch  her  again,  sir,"  came  cheerily  from  the  death- 
pit  below. 


THE  TURRET  265 

Again  the  lever  crept  toward  the  spot  at  which  it  must 
move  the  motor  a  hair — and  decide  the  fate  of  two  men. 

One  of  the  midshipmen  leaned  faintly  against  the  steel 
bulkhead.  He  could  stand  the  strain  no  longer.  The 
others  were  pale.  Beads  of  perspiration  stood  out  on 
Tom's  forehead.  Reggie's  face  looked  exactly  as  if  he 
were  holding  his  breath. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  slight  metallic  clink.  The  chain 
leading  to  the  clamp  tautened.  "Now !"  sang  Strake,  and 
shoved  his  lever  to  the  furthest  notch. 

Something  slammed.  The  thud  of  a  body  striking 
a  metal  surface  sounded.  Then : 

"Got  her,  sir!"  cried  Billings.  And  half  a  minute 
later  the  pinned  man  was  freed.  Helping  hands  lifted 
him  gently  and  passed  him  to  the  stretcher  bearers  who 
had  arrived. 

When  the  injured  man  had  been  cleared,  Strake  pulled 
out  his  stop  watch.  "Stand  by  to  load !"  he  ordered. 

"Not  again!"  groaned  Tom.  "And  after  what's  just 
happened !  How  can  they  have  the  stomach  for  any  more 
of  it  this  morning?" 

But  to  the  visiting  midshipmen's  great  astonishment, 
not  only  did  the  drill  go  on,  but  it  continued  for  so  long 
that  they  became  tired  just  watching. 

"Strake  did  it  on  purpose,"  Billings  told  his  visitors 
when  it  was  all  over.  He  had  taken  them  down  to  the 
junior  officers'  mess  room  and  ordered  up  some  ginger  ale 
from  the  Filipino  boy  in  charge  of  the  canteen  stores. 

"But  why?"  asked  Ole.  "Seems  to  me  after  that  nasty 
mess  of  an  accident  he  would  have  called  things  off  for  the 
day." 

"Yes,"  continued  Billings,  "but  that  is  just  where  Strake 
gets  his  hold  on  his  men.  If  he  had  let  them  go  at  the 


266  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

time  when  they  were  shaken  and  nervous,  he  would  have 
encouraged  them  to  stop  whenever  any  accident  hap- 
pened." 

"But  you  don't  have  those  often,  do  you?" 

"Practically  never.  We  haven't  so  much  as  cut  a  man's 
finger  for  the  past  year  in  the  turret.  But  suppose  we 
were  on  the  target  range,  even  in  battle,  and  there  was 
real  powder  being  bounced  about.  Suppose  a  man  got 
laid  out  and  the  others  fell  into  a  panic.  Then  where'd 
we  be?" 

The  truth  suddenly  dawned  on  the  midshipmen. 
Though  the  drill  had  been  but  that  of  the  usual  routine, 
they  had  seen  the  truest  test  of  an  officer :  Strake  had  held 
his  men  under  his  thumb  in  a  crisis;  and  he  had  carried 
them  through  to  further  work  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

"The  thing  we're  meant  for — I  see  it  now !"  exclaimed 
Reggie  suddenly. 

Billings  glanced  toward  the  speaker.  His  face  lighted 
as  if  suddenly  remembering  something.  Then  he  turned 
to  the  others.  He  did  not  wish  to  seem  to  address  Reg- 
gie. 

"By  the  way,  fellows,  let's  get  down  to  business.  If 
you  are  willing  to  come  to  the  Pennsylvania,  let  me  know  at 
once  and  I  can  speak  to  the  Skipper." 

"I  am,"  said  Ole  promptly. 

"You  bet !"  chimed  in  two  of  the  others. 

Reggie  and  Tom  remained  silent.  All  present  half- 
expected  they  would.  Despite  the  remarkable  change 
four  Annapolis  years  had  brought  to  each,  there  still  re- 
mained that  old  resentment  and  dislike  which  dated  from 
the  day  Reggie  spoke  of  Tom  as  the  "common  sailor"  and 
Tom  called  him  a  "sick  cat"  back. 

"And  you,  Tom?"  inquired  Billings. 


THE  TURRET  267 

Tom  shook  his  head.  "Don't  much  care  where  I  go," 
he  said  gruffly. 

Billings  smiled.     Tom  had  played  right  into  his  hands. 

"That's  pretty  near  right,  old  man,"  he  said.  "I  came 
to  the  Pennsylvania  not  knowing  who  was  here.  The 
night  I  arrived  Lieutenant  Strake  had  the  deck.  I  nearly 
fainted  when  I  saw  him.  He  was  the  last  man  in  the 
Navy  I  wanted  to  go  to  sea  with.  My  plebe  year  he  was 
a  second-classman.  He  tried  to  haze  me  in  a  way  I 
didn't  like  and  we  had  a  fight.  I  got  the  better  of  the 
scrap.  So  the  rest  of  the  time  at  Annapolis  he  hated 
me  for  licking  him.  And  I  hated  him  for  what  he  had 
tried  to  put  across  under  the  guise  of  hazing." 

At  this  moment  the  mess-room  door  opened  and  Strake 
himself  walked  in.  "Hello,"  he  called,  "have  they  made 
up  their  minds  yet,  Bill  ?" 

"Not  yet,  sir.  Maybe  they  will  though  after  I  tell  'em 
about  how  you  and  I  got  along  that  first  few  weeks.  In 
fact  that's  why  I  took  them  into  the  turret  this  morning." 

"Great  stuff!"  returned  the  Lieutenant.  "I'll  just 
stick  around  and  help  you  out." 

"Well,"  continued  Billings,  "we  looked  each  other  up 
and  down.  I  guess  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  quartermaster 
and  the  boatswain's  mate  we'd  have  busted  loose  right 
then  and  there  and  fought  it  out." 

"Agreed !"  said  Strake  heartily. 

"But  we  didn't.  And  then  the  Skipper  somehow  got 
wind  of  the  feeling  between  us  and  put  us  in  the  same 
division.  'Believe  me,  we  were  like  a  pair  of  roosters. 
Of  course  Strake  was  the  boss  because  he  was  the  senior. 
But  I  never  took  my  eye  off  him  for  suspicion  of  the 
dirty  tricks  I  was  sure  he'd  play  on  me  sooner  or  later." 

"Never  told  you  I  had  one,  did  I  ?"  interrupted  Strake. 


268  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"No,  sir,  but  I  guessed  it  all  right.  Well,  as  time  went 
on  the  whole  ship  got  to  watching  us.  The  wardroom 
wanted  us  to  fight  it  out  and  the  loser  get  detached.  Said 
such  a  plan  would  be  better  for  the  ship  than  all  this 
hate  business." 

Tom  and  Reggie  both  began  to  get  a  little  uneasy. 
There  was  a  bit  too  much  similarity  between  this  tale 
and  their  own  feelings. 

"The  end  came  down  there  at  Vera  Cruz.  We'd  put  a 
landing  party  ashore  and  our  division  had  to  capture  a 
bunch  of  armed  rioters  outside  the  town.  I  didn't  like 
Strake's  plan  and  I  told  film  so." 

Strake  leaned  across  the  table.  "And  I  asked  you  to 
make  a  suggestion  of  your  own,  didn't  I  ?"  His  eyes  nar- 
rowed. 

"You  did,"  agreed  Billings.  "And  I  told  you  I  was  go- 
ing to  clean  you  up  then  and  there.  And  you  said :  'Mis- 
ter Billings,  you're  on.  We  will  settle  this  knuckle-wise 
when  we  get  back  to  the  ship.  But  till  then  we're  going 
to  fight  elbow  to  elbow  with  our  gang  here.  Why?  be- 
cause we're  one  of  them — and  the  Navy !'  " 

Billings  stopped.  He  looked  a  little  ashamed  at  the 
memory  of  his  trouble.  And  he  recalled  vividly  how  his 
senior  officer  should  have  reported  him  and  had  him 
court-martialed  for  such  behavior. 

"Tell  the  rest,"  said  Strake.  "It's  worth  these  young- 
sters' time." 

Billings  lowered  his  voice.  "I  got  back  to  the  ship. 
I  went  to  my  room  to  make  ready  for  the  fight.  I  even 
taped  my  wrists  and  hands.  Then  suddenly  the  truth 
came  bang  into  my  head ;  Strake  had  played  the  man ;  he 
had  kept  his  head.  Didn't  we  both  love  the  Navy? 
Didn't  we  both  have  the  same  interests,  go  in  for  pretty 


THE  TURRET  269 

much  the  same  games  ?"  The  speaker  stopped  and  looked 
across  at  his  former  enemy. 

Strake  concluded  the  tale:  "And  he  came  to  me  and 
said  he  guessed  he  wouldn't  fight,"  he  chuckled.  "Said 
he  thought  we  might  try  out  a  plan  of  being  friends  for  a 
week  or  two  just  for  the  old  ship's  sake." 

"And  we've  been  getting  better  friends  every  day  since !" 
exclaimed  Billings.  "By  gosh,  fellows,  you  don't  know 
what  it  means  to  go  through  the  strain  and  worry  of  a 
target  practice !" 

"And  win !"  added  Strake. 

A  pause  followed.  Billings  looked  at  Reggie,  then  at 
Tom.  Both  lads  studied  the  deck. 

"I  haven't  heard  from  you  two,"  he  remarked. 

Suddenly  Tom  stood  up.  He  turned  on  Reggie  with  set 
jaws.  "Van  Brunt,"  he  said.  "It  looks  as  if  there  is  a 
meaning  to  all  this.  Bill  wants  the  two  of  us  to  come 
here.  He—" 

Reggie  looked  up  with  a  smile  that  was  almost  a  sneer. 

"Poor,"  he  broke  in,  "I'm  willing  to  chance  a  cruise 
with  even  you — provided  a  certain  difficulty  can  be 
cleared  up.  And  you  know  what  that  is — you — 

Ole  sprang  to  his  feet.  "Oh,  cut  it,  you  bantams !  Is 
this  another  fool  misunderstanding." 

The  two  rivals  glared  at  each  other.     Tom  spoke  first : 

"Van  Brunt,  that  matter  will  be  decided  tomorrow 
morning.  If  it  is  a  misunderstanding  I'm  willing  to  try 
being  friends.  If  it  isn't  I'm — "  he  stopped  and  doubled 
up  his  fists — "I'm  going  to  give  you  the  beating  of  your 
life!" 

Strake  and  Billings  gazed  for  a  moment  admiringly  at 
the  pair  before  them.  Tom  had  always  been  a  splendid 
physical  specimen.  Now  Reggie,  with  his  four  hard  years 


270  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

behind  him,  had  grown  to  a  man's  size  too.  And  his  extra 
height,  his  clear-cut  features,  gave  him  a  look  of  strength 
that  even  matched  Tom's  thicker  back  and  shoulders. 

"They're  off !"  cried  Billings. 

"Like  us !"  shouted  Strake. 

"And  I  bet  a  ten  spot  they  help  us  win  the  pennant 
next  October !" 

Strake  and  Billings  shook  hands  heartily  and  with  con- 
fidence. 

Ole  and  the  other  two  midshipmen,  however,  stood  a 
little  apart.  The  mystery  and  fierceness  of  this  new  row 
between  their  classmates  just  at  graduation  was  almost 
too  much  to  bear. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THEIR   LAST  FIGHT 

To  understand  the  final  barrier  that  threatened  once 
and  forever  to  ruin  the  possibility  of  Tom  and  Reggie  be- 
ing friends,  it  is  necessary  to  go  back  a  few  weeks. 

As  first-classmen,  and  each  in  command  of  a  company, 
one  of  their  many  duties  was  the  instruction  and  drill  of 
the  lower  classes.  Their  own  work  still  continued.  But 
a  final  touch  of  practical  application  of  all  their  book 
learning  was  necessary  before  they  could  go  aboard  a  bat- 
tleship and  take  command  of  men. 

One  evening  just  before  taps,  a  plebe  friend  of  Reg- 
gie's named  Harbin  came  to  his  room  and  complained 
about  Tom. 

"Gave  me  the  devil  at  drill  today." 

"Why?" 

"Said  I  read  all  the  signals  wrong." 

"Did  you?" 

"Don't  see  how  I  could.  The  flagboat  was  close  by 
and  her  hoists  were  slow  enough." 

"Did  he  say  anything  special?" 

"Called  me  down  before  the  whole  section.  Asked  me  if 
I  thought  I  ought  to  be  in  the  Navy  when  my  eyes 
wouldn't  tell  me  any  more  than  they  did  this  afternoon." 

"Ever  had  any  trouble  with  them?" 

"Not  a  bit.  Now  Poor  has  not  only  given  me  a  low 
mark  for  the  afternoon,  but  claims  he  is  going  to  report 
me  to  the  doctor." 

271 


272  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

Reggie  studied  the  problem  for  a  moment.  He  had 
learned  the  disadvantage  of  jumping  to  conclusions  too 
quickly  with  Tom  Poor  or  any  one  else.  If  there  was  any- 
thing the  matter  with  this  midshipman's  eyes  he  would 
have  to  leave  Annapolis  anyway.  Eyes  meant  too  much 
on  a  man-of-war's  bridge  for  any  weak  ones  ever  to  slip 
through  the  Naval  Academy. 

"Don't  we  have  spotting  tomorrow?"  asked  Reggie 
finally. 

"Yes.     In  the  armory,  I  think." 

"I'll  settle  the  trouble  then.  That's  about  as  good 
a  test  of  a  man's  vision  as  I  know." 

The  plebe  glanced  up  with  a  shrewd  look.  "Did  you 
realize  Poor  knows  you  spoon  on  me?" 

Reggie  gripped  the  table.  "You  mean  he's  rotten 
enough  to  take  his  dislike  of  me  out  on  you  ?" 

"Don't  see  why  not,"  craftily  suggested  the  plebe. 

Reggie  frowned.  Tom  Poor  was  a  rough  sort  still  in 
that  he  was  outspoken  in  all  that  he  said  or  did.  Yet,  in 
the  past  four  years,  Reggie  had  never  once  had  permanent 
cause  to  believe  that  he  was  not  perfectly  honest. 

"Anyway,  we  can  settle  it  tomorrow,"  he  said  finally. 

Next  afternoon,  Reggie  marshalled  a  section  of  under- 
classmen at  one  end  of  the  mammoth  hall  where  the  brig- 
ade was  formed.  Overhead  the  great  steel  arches  sup- 
ported a  roof  of  dizzy  height.  Rifle  racks  lined  the  walls 
holding  thousands  of  small  arms  in  glistening  rows. 

"Here  is  the  spotting  gun,"  explained  Reggie,  laying 
his  hand  on  a  small  mortar-like  cannon.  "At  the  other 
end  of  the  building  you  can  see  the  target.  The  object 
of  this  drill  is  to  train  you  men  for  spotting,  that  is,  the 
control  of  fire  from  the  fighting  tops  of  a  warship." 


THEIR  LAST  FIGHT  273 

For  illustration  he  lay  flat  on  the  floor.  The  gun  was 
pointed  at  the  target  and  discharged.  A  dummy  projec- 
tile shot  across  the  intervening  space  and  landed  with  a 
thud  near  the  distant  screen.  An  attendant  placed  a 
white  tuft  of  cotton  where  it  fell  in  imitation  of  the 
splash. 

"There,"  said  Reggie,  "to  my  eye  near  the  floor  that 
splash  looks  just  about  the  way  a  splash  at  sea  would  look 
if  I  were  firing  at  a  range  of  ten  miles." 

The  sights  on  the  spotting  gun  were  adjustable.  Reg- 
gie directed  one  of  the  midshipmen  to  change  them — "up 
five-hundred  yards"  was  the  way  he  put  it.  Then  he  fired 
again. 

"There !  I  shot  over  that  time,  showing  I  aimed  too 
high.  Another  correction  on  my  sights  and  I  would  prob- 
ably hit." 

When  it  came  Harbin's  turn  to  spot,  Reggie  watched 
him  closely.  If  the  man  couldn't  see  the  signals,  he  cer- 
tainly would  be  unable  to  estimate  or  even  see  the  pigmy 
target  way  at  the  other  end  of  the  building. 

"Fire!"  sung  out  Harbin.  The  projectile  whistled 
through  the  air  and  fell  what  corresponded  to  a  thou- 
sand yards  short. 

"Up  nine-hundred,"  he  directed.     "Fire!" 

"Good  work!"  came  from  a  dozen  of  the  bystanders. 
The  cotton  splash  showed  the  plebe's  guess  had  been  nearly 
exactly  right. 

Five  times  Reggie  tried  his  man  before  he  was  con- 
vinced. And  on  each  trial  the  plebe  proved  beyond  a 
shadow  of  a  doubt  that,  if  anything,  he  could  see  consid- 
erably farther  and  more  distinctly  than  any  of  the  others. 

Tom  had  an  artillery  drill  the  same  afternoon.     When 


274  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

he  had  done  an  hour  of  dragging  the  heavy  field  piece  all 
over  the  parade  ground  he  felt  his  men  had  had  enough. 
He  handed  the  company  over  to  Ole  the  second  in  com- 
mand and  turned  back  to  Bancroft  Hall. 

He  had  a  hunch.  The  hunch  had  to  do  with  the  plebe 
Harbin.  For  nearly  a  week  he  had  been  struggling  to 
teach  the  lad  signals.  Instruction  of  this  sort  had  proved 
so  easy  with  the  others  that  he  was  surprised  to  find  this 
single  midshipman  stupid  beyond  belief. 

Then,  to  Tom's  astonishment,  Harbin  proved  he  knew 
the  signals  well  enough  by  memory.  He  could  recite  the 
meaning  of  the  flags  as  rapidly  as  any  other  boy. 

But  he  couldn't  read  them  when  hoisted  on  another 
vessel ! 

It  was  evident  at  once  that  the  fellow's  eyes  were  bad. 
He  simply  couldn't  see  far  enough  to  distinguish  which 
flag  was  which. 

"Ought  to  have  your  eyes  examined,"  Tom  told  him. 

"Don't  need  to,  sir.  I  can  see  as  far  as  any  of  the 
others." 

But  he  couldn't,  and  Tom  told  him  so.  And  also  Tom 
openly  pointed  out  that  dismissal  for  defective  vision  was 
Harbin's  fate  unless  he  improved. 

Harbin's  roommate  seemed  more  impressed  by  the  pos- 
sibility of  disaster  than  Harbin  himself.  This  Tom  no- 
ticed. Also  the  very  next  day  the  roommate  went  on 
the  sick  list.  He  got  permission  to  stay  in  his  room  dur- 
ing drill. 

The  room  opened  out  on  the  side  of  the  sick  bay,  as  the 
hospital  part  of  quarters  is  called.  From  the  drill  ground 
Tom  could  see  the  roommate  sitting  in  one  of  the  win- 
dows. This  gave  him  an  idea. 


THEIR  LAST  FIGHT  275 

Could  it  be  possible  that  the  roommate  was  going  to  save 
Harbin  by  dishonest  means? 

Midshipmen's  eyes  are  tested  by  having  them  read  let- 
ters of  various  sizes  printed  on  large  cardboards.  If  a 
man  could  secure  a  list  of  the  letters  and  memorize  them, 
he  would  be  able  to  pass  the  eye  test  by  simply  identify- 
ing the  card  and  repeating  the  letters  as  he  had  learned 
them. 

He  would  pretend  to  see  them ! 

Tom  gently  opened  the  door  to  Harbin's  room.  There, 
as  he  had  suspected,  sat  the  roommate  with  a  pair  of 
binoculars.  On  the  floor  above,  not  a  hundred  feet  across 
the  open  court  some  man  was  getting  an  eye  test.  As 
each  card  was  held  up  the  roommate  would  read  the  let- 
ters through  his  binoculars  and  copy  them.  Thus  would 
he  save  his  friend  Harbin. 

Tom  closed  the  door  gently.  Time  for  action  had  not 
yet  come. 

He  found  Reggie  waiting  for  him  in  his  room. 

"Hello,"  said  Tom  a  little  distantly. 

Reggie  eyed  his  man  with  cool  estimation  of  \nhat  his 
problem  was.  No  longer  did  the  broad  shoulders  and 
thick  arms  awe  him  as  they  had  in  earlier  years.  Now 
he  realized  he  ran  no  more  danger  of  being  struck  by  one 
of  Tom  Poor's  famous  sledge-hammer  blows  than  he  did 
of  being  run  down  by  an  automobile  at  a  street-crossing. 
It  was  simply  a  case  of  watching  his  step. 

"Poor,  I  came  to  see  you  about  a  friend  of  mine.  Har- 
bin is  his  name." 

"Yes?" 

"He  tells  me  you  are  reporting  him  for  inefficiency  in 
signals  as  well  as  defective  sight." 


276  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"Yes?"  Tom  himself  had  learned  the  waiting  game. 
He  long  since  knew  that  until  the  other  man  showed  his 
hand  there  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  flying  up  and  start- 
ing a  row. 

"I  would  like  you  to  know  that  I  gave  him  an  eye  test 
of  my  own  this  afternoon.  Harbin  proved  to  be  the  best 
spotter  in  the  company.  Only  the  strongest  eyes  could 
do  what  his  did." 

"Yes?"     It  still  wasn't  time  to  fight  back. 

"And  furthermore,  I  tried  him  out  on  signals  and  dis- 
covered that  he  knew  them  almost  better  than  I  did  my- 
self— a  plebe,  mind  you !" 

"Yes?" 

Reggie's  face  slowly  reddened.  The  other's  calm  and 
inquiring  tone  angered  him.  This  was  a  new  develop- 
ment of  Tom  Poor's.  In  the  past,  Reggie  had  usually  held 
the  upper  hand  by  the  very  composure  with  which  he 
faced  Poor's  uncontrollable  bursts  of  temper. 

"Well,"  he  snapped,  "what  are  you  going  to  do  about 
it?" 

"Report  him  for  inefficiency  and  weak  eyes,"  returned 
Tom  quietly. 

Reggie  stiffened.  "Do  you  realize  that  if  you  do,  Poor, 
I  shall  go  down  the  same  day  and  report  that  your  state- 
ment is  false  and  that  I  can  prove  the  opposite  ?" 

Tom  smiled.  "Van  Brunt,  I  wonder  if  you  think  I 
waste  my  perfectly  good  time  trying  to  hunt  up  ways  of 
getting  even  with  you?" 

"It  looks  very  suspicious  when  I  realize  you  know  this 
man  is  my  friend;  and  when  I  know  that  you  are — " 

Reggie  hesitated.  He  had  no  intention  of  calling  Tom 
a  liar.  But  he  wished  to  make  sure  that  Tom  under- 
stood he  thought  Tom  was  a  liar. 


THEIR  LAST  FIGHT  277 

Tom  smiled  again.  Two  could  play  at  this  game  of 
wits.  In  the  old  days  he  would  have  leaped  on  Reggie  and 
pummeled  him  for  the  insinuation  of  dishonor.  Now  he 
was  playing  a  far  more  subtle  game. 

"You  know,  Van  Brunt,"  he  observed  pleasantly,  "if 
I  wished  to  have  a  fight  I'd  go  down  into  the  gym,  put 
on  the  gloves,  and  pick  a  man  my  own  size.  If,  on  the 
other  hand,  I  was  hankering  to  prove  my  honesty  or  the 
truth  of  what  I  had  said  I  would  take  the  matter  before  a 
referee  and  argue  it  out.  That's  what  a  court  is  for. 
AnoV,  if  it  were  a  good  close  dispute,  there  is  no  reason 
why  it  shouldn't  be  as  much  fun  as  a  fist  fight." 

Reggie  controlled  his  feelings  with  difficulty.  He  saw 
that  at  last  Tom  Poor  had  ceased  to  be  the  bully  he  had 
been  once.  If  Tom  was  to  be  beaten  he  must  have  con- 
vincing evidence  against  him. 

"And,  incidentally,"  went  on  Tom,  "it  may  interest 
you  to  know  that  Harbin's  roommate  is  planning  to  play 
the  old  and  crooked  game  of  memorizing  the  eye  cards 
to  get  him  through." 

Reggie  started.     "He  is?" 

"Just  came  by  and  saw  him  getting  them." 

"What  do  you  make  of  it  then?"  Reggie's  bewilder- 
ment at  the  case  was  getting  the  better  of  his  emotion. 

Tom  then  and  there  laid  the  difficulty  squarely  out :  "I 
think,  Van  Brunt,  that  you  and  I  are  near  the  crisis  of 
our  acquaintanceship.  I  am  positive  that  Harbin  has  no 
right  to  remain  at  Annapolis.  And  I  have  the  most  ex- 
cellent proof.  You  are  apparently  convinced  of  just  the 
opposite ;  and  you  tell  me  you  have  proof  equally  strong. 
There  is  a  motive  for  each  of  us  to  be  dishonorable: 
you  and  Harbin  are  friends;  you  and  I  are  enemies.  I 
give  you  my  word-  that  if  I  prove  my  case  against  you, 


278  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

I  shall  leave  no  stone  unturned  to  have  you  put  out  of 
the  naval  service.  Is  that  clear?" 

"Perfectly,"  agreed  Reggie.  "And  let  me  add  that  I 
am  prepared  to  boost  you  to  exactly  the  same  fate  if,  as 
I  have  good  grounds  for  thinking,  you  are  misrepresent- 
ing Harbin  just  to  get  even  with  me." 

Reggie  glared  for  a  moment  then  stalked  out. 

Thus  while  they  had  not  actually  come  to  blows,  Reg- 
gie and  Tom,  school  and  classmates,  had  on  the  eve  of 
their  graduation  sworn  to  see  that  one  or  the  other  of  them 
was  forced  out  of  the  profession  they  had  struggled  four 
hard  years  to  master !  It  was  deplorable. 

Both  made  their  reports  to  the  authorities,  then  each 
resigned  himself  to  his  fate.  Each  felt  confident. 

On  the  day  of  their  visit  to  the  Pennsylvania  no  word 
had  been  received  of  any  action  taken  on  the  matter. 
Neither  midshipman  had  been  called  to  testify.  It  began 
to  look  as  if  the  authorities  had  got  wind  of  the  struggle 
between  the  two  and  had  determined  to  arrange  matters 
so  that  both  might  be  saved  to  the  Service. 

Graduation  morning  came  and  still  no  word. 

The  great  event  of  graduation  exercises  was  held  as 
usual  in  the  armory.  The  graduating  class  sat  in  front. 
Behind,  standing  at  parade  rest  was  the  entire 
brigade.  The  galleries  were  crowded  with  parents  and 
friends. 

The  Secretary  of  the  Navy  made  the  presentation 
speech.  Once  he  paused  and  glanced  keenly  over  the 
upturned  faces  before  him. 

"One  thing  above  all  I  pray  you  shall  remember,"  he 
pronounced  with  impressive  solemnity.  "And  that  is 
this:  no  matter  what  you  have  been  in  the  past,  have 
thought  or  done  or  said  in  the  past,  from  now  on  you  are 


THEIR  LAST  FIGHT  279 

brothers  in  a  common  cause:  the  defense  of  our  great 
Republic  1" 

But  down  in  Tom  Poor's  heart  a  small  voice  whispered : 
"True  for  you,  Tom  Poor — except  for  one  man,  Van 
Brunt.  Isn't  there  some -way  out?" 

And  Tom,  with  set  teeth,  inwardly  replied :  "Yes,  there 
is.  Prove  he's  a  liar  and  dismiss  him !" 

So,  though  Graduation  Ball  that  night  was  gay,  Tom 
Poor  was  not.  Neither,  if  truth  were  known,  was  Reg- 
gie. Despite  the  magnificent  beauty  of  the  spectacle 
each  man  wandered  listlessly  about,  longfaced  and  un- 
happy. Each  had  won  honors.  Each  had  triumphed  over 
every  obstacle  that  professor  and  drillmaster  could  set. 
Each  was  an  officer  every  inch. 

Yet  each  had  one  black  shadow  on  the  day's  success: 
the  fact  that  one  man  hated  him,  had  cause  to  believe 
him  crooked,  and  would  prefer  to  see  him  flung  from  the 
Navy's  lists! 

Tom  was  standing  near  some  decorative  palms  when  he 
saw  Dr.  Morris,  the  senior  surgeon,  approaching. 

"Good  evening,  Poor,"  said  the  older  officer.  "I  have 
been  looking  around  for  you  this  evening. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Tom  feebly.  He  had  no  desire  to  add 
to  the  evening's  melancholy  by  being  forced  to  fight  the 
battle  even  though  it  must  come  sooner  or  later. 

"It's  about  a  report  that  you  put  in  against  a  fourth- 
classman." 

"Just  a  minute,  sir,"  Tom  interrupted.  "I  would 
much  prefer  that  Van  Brunt  be  present  if  you  have  any 
real  news  about  the  case." 

As  the  surgeon  assented,  Tom  set  out  after  Reggie. 
He  found  him  equally  disconsolate  at  the  far  end  of  the 
hall. 


280  WON  FOR  THE  FLEET 

"Van  Brunt,  Surgeon  Morris  has  some  news  about  our 
reports  and  I  asked  him  to  let  me  get  you  before  he  dis- 
closed the  result." 

Reggie  nodded  and  followed  Tom  back. 

"It  looks  personal,"  laughed  the  Surgeon,  "the  serious 
way  you  two  lads  take  the  matter.  I  suppose  you  have 
quarrelled  over  the  business.  Well  you  might,  too,  be- 
cause you  were  both  right." 

"But  we  couldn't  be,  sir!"  exclaimed  Tom.  "A  man 
can't  fail  to  read  signal  flags  at  a  hundred  yards,  as  I 
found,  and  then  be  the  best  spotter  in  his  class  as  Van 
Brunt  reported !" 

"Ho !     Ho !"  roared  the  Surgeon.     "He  certainly  can  !H' 

Tom  and  Reggie  stared  with  flabbergasted  faces  at  the 
speaker. 

"But  how?"  stammered  Reggie. 

"By  being  color  blind,"  explained  the  Surgeon.  "Har- 
bin has  perfectly  good  eyes.  He  can  see  as  far  and  clearly 
as  any  other  midshipman.  But  he  can't  read  signals  any 
more  simply  because  he  can't  distinguish  the  different 
colors  in  the  flags.  Naturally  he  will  have  to  be  dropped." 

Just  then  a  lady  signalled  the  Surgeon  and  he  dashed 
away  leaving  the  two  bewildered  young  naval  officers 
standing  looking  vacantly  after  him. 

Suddenly  Tom  turned  to  Reggie. 

"Say,  old  man,  do  you  suppose  that  you  and  I  could 
be  a  little  color-blind  about  each  other?" 

Reggie  returned  the  other's  keen  look  for  a  long  min- 
ute. Then  he  held  out  his  hand. 

"Tom  Poor,"  he  said,  "when  the  Secretary  told  us 
this  morning  we  were  brothers  in  a  common  cause,  I 
made  a  mental  reservation  that  I'd  never  be  a  brother  to 
you.  I  take  it  back.  Will  you  shake  on  it?" 


THEIR  LAST  FIGHT  281 

Tom  gripped  the  other's  hand.  "I'll  shake,  you  bet! 
And  I'll  put  in  for  the  Pennsylvania  tomorrow.  I've 
been  wondering  which  of  us  would  win  the  chance  of  go- 
ing to  her." 

"We've  both  won!"  exclaimed  Reggie. 

"No,"  amended  Tom.  "We've  been  won — won  for 
the  Fleet!" 


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